place of parental government and domestic rule; the teacher is not to be the substitute for the father or the mother; the ordinances of the family household are not to be reversed by the children of this generation being lifted above the heads of those whom God's law commands them to love, honour, and obey, without condition or limit of intellectual standard. "Schoolmasters," says George Herbert, "deliver us to laws." "Education," says philanthropy, "makes men free." In the reconciliation and consistent harmony of these two truths lies the grand purpose of education. We can scarcely fail to see that a direct inversion of the laws of order has resulted from many of the well-intended and often judiciously carried out designs of those who have thought to arrive nearer and nearer unto perfection in their systems, as they have approached nearer and nearer to the cradle with their leading-strings and training methods; we believe thereby often snapping the chords of natural affection, severing the bonds of family union, and destroying the ties of home. We do not say that adult schools will prove the panacea for all these evils; but we cannot but think they promise well by addressing their remedies to the root of the tree, instead of confining themselves to the trimming of the buds, blossoms, or branches. We cannot, in passing, forbear noticing this characteristic feature of modern educational systems, in its influence upon the literature for the young of this our age. How many are the works that issue from the press, where youthful heroes and heroines are made martyrs of home inferiority, or victims to parental ungodliness; the moral of the tale being made to hang upon the firm disobedience and conceited defiance of all the ordinances of home and family, by these patterns of holiness and intellectuality, set up as models for our sons and daughters.

Thankful, indeed, may we feel to any writer who aims at restoring amongst us the sanctity of the family law, while granting to one and all the unbounded right of full and free education in its widest and noblest sense. In the lectures

upon the Religion of Rome, we see this attempt most fully carried out in the clear elucidation of the doctrine and practice respecting the parental and filial relation in pagan Rome; we see the extension of the idea of paternal government carried out in their reverence for the gods, in the cherishing of their Penates, and we find in it, as the basis of unity, the essential element of their greatness. We can do little more than catalogue the several subjects treated of in the ten lectures before us; they open up so wide a field, that even the elaborate handling Dr. Maurice has bestowed upon many of them, reads more like an epitome of leading facts and

observations, than a general treatise upon any one of them.

The first lecture upon Juvenile and Adult Learning opens up a most interesting inquiry. Whether adult education in the history of Great Britain and of Europe generally followed or preceded the education of the young?

With a slight glance at the schools of the Romans, he passes on to the period of the introduction of Christianity into our island; to the influence of the Christian Missionaries, through their appeals to the domestic affections latent in the turbulent Saxon conquerors of sea and land; showing what were the schools to which the humbled peasant might resort, provided he consented to become a scholar; what the nature of the instruction there afforded; and proving that it was not elementary, but what would now be considered directly the reverse-how "even Arithmetic," as our school-boys might say, was not identical with them with figures and counting, but was considered profoundly, and taught as "a branch" of natural philosophy.

Passing on to the period of Charlemagne and the help given to his education by the scholar of York, Alcuin, he deduces from the history,

That a right education is the result of the collision and conflict between the practical intellect and the meditative intellect, that no true spark comes forth till the one is fairly struck by the other.

The training of Alfred, up to twelve years of age by his mother, upon the food fittest to make him a Saxon king, the songs and ballads of forefathers; the influence of his sound practical sense upon the scholars he gathered about him; and the fact that these, too, were adult scholars, come next under consideration. Then follows the age of monk learning under the supremacy of Dunstan, and later, the establishment of schools separate from the monastaries, recognised as Universities or corporations for carrying on studies, as there were for carrying on trades. The history of Abelard; his popularity; the effect of his subtle logic on the minds of the crowds who thronged to listen to him even after he had fallen into moral disgrace, is brought forward as another proof of the attraction that the profound discussions of the schools had to the deep spirit of humanity. The establishment of Colleges, the purely English element of the Universities, is another era of deep interest in the progress of scholastic education, and the union of Winchester College for boys with New College, the great fact in the life of William of Wykeham, a still more important Speaking of Grammar Schools, Dr. says:

one.

Maurice

Education was becoming an art which had its own embodied his notion of the art in his "Schoolmaster." doctors and professors. Our worthy Roger Ascham Fortunately there were at our Grammar Schools some

thing better than any dogmas about the art of training; there was a free hearty life, games in which the limbs were expanded, a discipline which with all its sternness, yet assumed boys to be human creatures, not machines.

In an extract from Lord Bacon's advice to King James, touching the project of Christopher Sutton to found Charter House School, nor to increase the number of Grammar Schools, we find this remarkable passage:

Therefore in this point I wish Mr. Sutton's intentions were exalted a degree; that that which he meant for teachers of children, your Majesty should make for teachers of men... Surely, readers in the chair (of Universities) are as parents in sciences, and deserve to enjoy a condition not inferior to the children who embrace the practical part; else no man will sit longer in the chair than till he can walk to a better preferment. . . . For if the principal readers, through

the meanness of their entertainment, be but men of superficial learning, and that they shall take their place but in passage, it will make the mass of sciences want the chief and solid dimension which is depth, and to become but pretty and compendious habits of practice. These words from the men in whom the practical element was predominent have no light weight.

The era of Locke and Milton, the poetschoolmaster and the prose-physician, both alike engaged upon treatises on education, which nothing that has ever since been placed on paper has surpassed, is the next step in the history of scholastic education; and then follows the era when the schools and the world from being separate, became hostile to competition, each striving to do the work of the other. Then did the schools reduce their principles into hard systems, and the world, tired of trying to fashion an education for itself, succeeded in creating hands, not men. Then comes the re-actiona population springing up without any education, led to the manifold experiments whose

results are now before us. Immense have been

the benefits they have worked; but we feel bound to endorse this sentence of Dr. Maurice:

It does not signify how many studies, sacred or secular, you append to the first elementary studies; it does not signify on what plea you append them; education can never be felt to be the rightful portion and inheritance of Britons; its own meaning and dignity must be altogether forgotten, when you determine its purpose by that which is at best only its starting point. LEARNING cannot look WORK in the face; it must quail at the sight of its steady progress, its mighty achievements. Your boys and girls must scorn their primers when they see what can be done, what they themselves can do, with the help of the steam-engine. Unless you can find some way of showing them that Learning and Working presume each other are necessary to each other, you are but spinning a web to-day which to-morrow will unravel.

as maxims since the days when Locke and Milton so boldly came forward as champions of manly sports and play-ground recreations; yet we are not often called upon to listen to arguments for games and sports from the same pen that denounces the dilittanteism of the Florentine schools of art, and the unsoundness of the theories of the school of which Lorenzo De Medici was the head, in believing art alone to be capable of redeeming or reforming nations steeped in vice. Dr. Maurice would argue that play is healthy and good because it is work.

The age of Elizabeth," says he, "is the glorious age of our literature only because it is the great working age of the nation, one in which all thought was connected with the actual business, and was used for the interpretation of it. In action, our writers on government and polity were formed." Hooker, Spenser, Shakspere, Bacon, were of the world, and in the world, and the greater for that they were so. Milton worked at teaching; Burns at the plough; Addison was Secretary of State. In the prac tical sense of Jeremy Taylor and South lies the strength of each. All this and far more testimony is brought together to prove that Learning and Work have no natural antipathy to each other.

sense and

The third lecture, "Learning and Moneyworship incompatible," is addressed chiefly to those who practically declare the human soul to be less precious then the spinning jenny. It contains much sound common rational philanthropy (for there is much irrational nonsense that passes under that name); but the profoundest thought and deepest philosophy pervades the whole of this fourth lecture upon "Freedom and Order." We would fain quote passage after passage to endorse them with our honest approval and sympathy; but want of space forbids, and we can do no more than hint at the pre-eminently important suggestions contained in the two last-upon the "Studies and Teachers" needful for a working college.

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Upon the whole, we cannot but regard these lectures, in the form in which they come before us, as by far the most practical of the works that have issued from Dr. Maurice's pen. Leaving opinions and theologies, setting aside dogmas and disputations, he has set his shoulder to the wheel of work in right good earnest. He speaks or writes as though for a time, at least, forgetting that there were such things as persecution and martyrdom; and the reader heartily sympathises in the sense of relief that seems to pervade the whole series of conversational teachings. We cannot but think that another edition of the first six lectures, in a cheaper form, might be a valuable contribution to the popular literature of the day.

THE art of thinking, like that of staining glass, would appear to be lost.-Book-worms abound. "Well-informed" men we meet in every salon -and terrible bores they often are-but for thinkers-real honest formers of their own opinions from their own internal evidences of what is true or right, or even of what is probable or expedient-where shall we find them? Go down to your club, whether you happen to be a member of the grave Athenæum or the less erudite Rag." If you look in at the former place of resort, put your coat-button meekly into the hand of old Slocum; listen to that respectable bore expatiating on his favourite topic," the adaptation of the taxes to the moral requirements of the age." At first you don't perceive that that well-rounded sentence is sheer nonsense, and you look up with some respect, mingled perhaps with weariness, to a man who has thought deeply on such an abstruse subject. But little Lord Montfaucon comes into the library, and old Slocum changes the subject; for he knows that the exemplary peer will recognise his own theories, or those which he has made his own, in his (Slocum's) declamations, which could only be palmed off as original on the few shallow-minded loungers who do not make a point of perusing Blue Books. At the Military Club we have mentioned, you will hear less solemn quidnuncs confidently predicting the result of the St. Leger, or the next fight for the champion's belt. You will see the young warriors taking different sides, and eagerly espousing the cause of "Shiver the Mizen against "Streak o' Lightning," and vice versa; and with a true catholic spirit, admiring greatness in whatever sphere it manifests itself, you feel respectfully towards men who have mastered the abstruce sciences of horse-racing and the ring. But if you take up the last week's "Era" you will find that the arguments of the plunger who backs "Shiver the Mizen," are quoted verbatim, with a slight alteration of grammar, from that exciting periodical; while the seconder of "Streak o' Lightning" has derived his ideas and inspirations from the flowery

"Field."

of us is not sick of the disjointed fragments of yesterday's leader in the " Times being served up to us as an original mental feast by some young or old fogy who sits next to us at dinner, and spoils our material repast by his inartistic réchauffe of the spicy literary condiments which we had already taken with our yesterday's breakfast? Who dares to think for himself? Who is hardy enough to admire what the world despises, or ventures to hurl a stone at its great ugly idols, feeling sure of his aim, and knowing that he can shiver the stuccoed and unsubstantial clay? "Who indeed?" has been echo's answer for many a long day; but at last Messrs. Simpkin and Marshall have answered the question by laying before us this book, "Olympus," written by a man who would appear to have thought earnestly and painfully on subjects for their opinions on which most persons are willing to accept the judgment of the more than dead men of antiquity. He is not one of those "meek young men whom Emerson speaks, who "grow up in libraries, believing it their duty to accept the views which Cicero, which Locke, which Bacon, have given; forgetful that Cicero, Locke, and Bacon, were only young men in libraries when they wrote these books."

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of

We will detain the reader no longer, but will at once introduce him to the work before us. The author journeys to Mount Olympus seeking inspiration from the mountain "hoar and high. Let us hear him tell in his own language the disappointing influences of that classical spota disappointment, we presume, that many of our readers must have felt, despite the wellrounded, often-quoted, and sententious remark of Dr. Johnson, when they have expected to find their "patriotism glow" on the material plains of Marathon, or to feel their souls melting into poetry as they quaff the actual waters of Castalia.

Suffice it, therefore, to say, that after the usual nuisances of a voyage, I found myself, on the Twentyfifth of August last, at the foot of old Olympus. There the deeds performed there by yourself-with sufferings can be no doubt that places are highly associative with suffered there by yourself; one black thought, for instance, will render a charming prospect unpleasant for ever after; you note the aspect of this or that man, and the sound of his voice for similar reasons, but place connects in a far less degree the actions of others. Every dabbler in the very elements of psycholgy knows thus much, but experience and time alone can teach the fallacy of expecting great and wonderful changes of general sensation or thought with a change of place; Ida or Olympus, you feel not one whit more poetical nor was it by any means surprising that when treading than when walking down the Strand or Pall Mall,

The mind makes the man, and if that be vivid and well pleased, time and place are but of little consequence; and the highest order of thought is independent of mere adjuncts-the day-dawn from on high comes from within, not from without. In fact, I doubt whether, during my whole travel, I have felt so much real thought, as I should in all probability have found at home, especially in winter time, while walking about in wet weather. November is the most contemplative month in the year. Wander forth about five o'clock, when the lamps are just lit, and the atmosphere damp and foggy-a little drizzle is also very desirable -but mist of some kind is a sine qua non. Then endue your person in a stout pilot coat, envelope your neck with shawls, and go forth. Incase the soul in "the invulnerable armour of old time," as Wordsworth hath it, and slouch along the streets, always keeping close to the wall; and remember to let your weed be of the mellowest flavour-this is indispensable, Caparisoned in this manner, if thou can'st not think during this urban ramble, then, by the Gods! thou can'st never think at all. But perhaps your mind moves upon springs of a different kind, Glück, the musician, could only compose his music in a large room, dimly lighted by a rushlight; in that semi-darkness and "visible" gloom his dark imagination breathed itself out in tones of inspiration; but another composer loved to have his piano brought out on the lawn, on a summer day, and then with the sun above him, and a bottle of champagne on each side of him, the God of Harmony began to rise; and another man could only feel inspiration when he sat with a cat on each shoulder. Now all these are different ways and mediums; but I have given you my recipe, and expect thanks, at the very least, in return. And pray observe, that in these instances the external agencies and appendages are for the purpose of benumbing of the attention-not of stimulating it-the thought is whispering from within; therefore, let it not be interrupted by any positive influence from without.

And therefore, so far as I am concerned, I found Olympus no more inspiring of thought than Old Palace Yard.

Nevertheless, our author saw sights and heard speeches on Mount Olympus such as the greatest conjuror in St. Stephen's could hardly show to him in Palace Yard. He ascends the mountain

till he finds himself in company with the spirits of the dead of all times and countries, from Alexander the Great to a friend of his own who hunted with the Craven hounds, many of whom reveal to him their experiences of life, their faith, and their scepticism. Nearly one chapter is devoted to a definition of common sense and genius. We regret that our limits will not allow of our quoting more than a few extracts from this chapter; for though the subject is hackneyed enough in all conscience, the writer of Olympus treats it after no hackneyed fashion, and draws the distinction between the two talents with a subtlety of thought and a novelty of language such as we were hardly prepared to see brought to bear on so trite a text,

The thinking faculty exists under a two-fold aspect -as Genius and Common Sense. In the majority of men it is constant and equable, little influenced by circumstances of place, or time, or society, and is as ready on one day as on another; its memory is of an uniform tenacity; it is ever prompt and active, and sees clearly as far as that limited range extends. As

it sees a fact to-day, so it sees it to-morrow, and so till the day of death. Men of this stamp and development seldom alter their opinions, because they never see very far; they have perfect faith in the facts of to-day, and their perception is clear, because it is so shallow; they see no discrepancies in society, and have strong faith in the established order of things, believing that order to be everlasting; they never imagine that man has any particular destiny to fulfil (and in this they possibly are right), save to eat, and drink, and work, to be punctual in his engagements and payments, and to be an early riser: and these opinions are not based on a hasty or narrow induction, but are to them great and established truths-they love facts, and actions, and detail. These are the characteristics of the mass of "the intelligent and well-informed class," as they are called. Beyond this, common sense sees nothing. It has a hatred for a vacillating and irresolute person, for no other reason, than because, as it never had more than one common idea on any subject itself, it cannot quite perceive how another should. It is no sceptic, and hates vehemently men who are; it loves not sentiment or fine feeling; it believes there really is such a thing as matter, because it perceives solidity. And here, again, its defect in seeing distinction and difference is apparent. It tells you gravely that truth is truth. It is credulous, too, in its small way; believes in the immortality of the soul, not from conviction but convention-not because it feels and sees, but because it imitates. The passions generally keep such an understanding in countenance, -are moderate and confident, and orthodox. From these are recruited that solid battalion which occupies all society, and officers all posts of trust. Below them lies ignorance, and above them towers genius.

But Genius-that other nature-is ever lonely, and is always a minority; it is something new, something creative and begetting a spirit attending a man that now speaks, and now is silent. The action of the mind is sudden, and unaccountable-the vision is vivid, and all-piercing; it is unequal in its perceptive powers, waiting for time, place, and cireumstances; it sees at once, or it sees not at all; it exults distractions which crowd upon and overwhelm its in solitary places, and loves to free itself from those delicate faculties; it beholds a glorious vision, and a triumphant calvacade: it is subtle and certain in its conclusions; it sees similarity and difference, and,

among a thousand conflicting facts, throws off all those

parts which are common to both, and fixes upon the true distinctive; it attaches itself instinctively to LAW, perceiving all things to work under a thousand masquerades. Where others see confusion, genius sees order; and where they see agreement, genius perceives a subtle distinction.

*

Nevertheless, it (Genius) fulfils its purpose, and co-operates with other men in the general progression of mankind. It founds great schemes, which thousands afterwards labour in carrying out-it organizes states and nations-it discovers alphabets of subtle sciences;

these things were all once sneered at, but Genius went on in its own dear dream, regardless. It, and it alone, comprehends beauty and poetry. This uncommon brood, struggling for birth, pushing its way into life, of men, is a Titanic race, overhorne by numbers! The and with lofty scorn falsifying the stale conclusions

genius is the bond-servant to the man of common sense, and the man in authority. Often does he, in all bitterness of heart, appeal to a higher tribunal in the words of the haughty and humbled Lucifer, "How canst thou bid me, whom thou hast made of fire, to bow down to this thing whom thou hast made of clay?" But "this thing of clay" still rules on. Here is a life, thronged with disappointments, and embittered by the

censure of the judicious, the hatred of the fool, and the contempt of the amiable and contented. All men agree in this. "When a true genius appears in the world," says one, "you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him." Again, "It has been industriously propagated," says another, "by the dunces of every age, that a man of genius is unfit for business," and it would be very unnatural were it otherwise, for there is an innate antipathy between the man of detail and the man of thoughtbetween him who loves society as it is, and him who sees a better realm beyond. There is quite as much hatred on the part of the genius; he sneers at the idea of commonality, talking of their "views"-he, too, is an exaggeration in nature, and any one who is either far above, or far below the mediocrity of men, must necessarily be misunderstood and shunned. But he has this glorious privilege--that, whereas no labour can possibly exalt a pedant or a dunce to the dignity of an original and true man, so no drudgery, however laborious, can quite lower him to a man of detail: he sees novelty everywhere, and can become, if he please, a high order of the man of detail, but the other can never become aught else than himself,

Ordinary men are superstitious in their belief of all received opinions, fearing to contradict, on their bare conviction, dogmas which have been long established, and are popularly accredited, but Genius trusts in its convictions alone, and has such faith in its own keenness and sincerity, that the adverse opinion of a million opponents is but regarded as a small matter. The doctrines so hugged by the masses are genius grown old-in ruin and decay. Every age requires its new organon, and its connexion with the inner world, and if it hold not communion with the eternal spirit, it will never rank higher than an age of detail-there will be no grand and wide view-no comprehensive range and gigantic grasp. Such will be an era of worn-out systems and paltry subdivisions.

energetic; if he be given to crapulence and vice, it is because no stronger power is in him-not that the power is there, and he will not use it; if the power be there, he must use it; it becomes his character; it is he himself; it is his will. If I be one of nature's mistakes, let me, together with a company of kindred mooncalves, go to gaol, or workhouse-strangle me as you would strangle a monster or a mad dog. But as you do not impute the rabies in the dog to his volition, why impute my vice to mine? It is quite proper that society should be weeded of vicious persons, of liars, and murderers. Let us so weed society, without blaming tares for being tares, but simply burning them because they are not wheat.

The reflections on some of the world's heroes in the extract we are now about to quote, evince a philosophic comprehension of the minds and motives of transcendent conquerors.

I shall here give some account of a few of the notable men whom I from time to time met in these

regions. One day, at Logos, while crossing the Grand Square, on that side nearest The Columns of the Sun, I saw four famous men, in company, one of whom, by his massive head and well known features, I at once recognized as Napoleon; the others were Wallenstein, Cæsar, and Alexander the Great. These mighty desolators of the earth were in earnest conversation together. I regretted that no man of my own country could be found worthy to rank with these heroes, and make a fifth in this august company. Their discourse was not of legions, or the strategies of war, or the past career of glory and crime which they had run. These were the mere weapons with which each had striven to work out the shadowy conceptions of his own taciturn soul, and to these no allusion was made. But they were questioning the wills of the fates in which they had all been believers during life. One had called himself the child of destiny, another had studied many a dark horoscope, and looked upwards at the dim struggle. He had said

with our author. For such passages we must refer our readers to the book itself. A man who has the courage to think out this awful problem, and the resolution to solve it to his own satisfaction, has a right to be listened to when he tells us the sober results of his painful, earnest reflection. A true and an honest man, who calmly imparts to us what he conceives to be truths, acquired by sad and solemn selfexamination, should be heard with attention. But he must expect no more he must look for no conversions. Every one must form his own creed in the matter of predestination, or take on trust what his spiritual pastors and masters tell him about it. The general character of our author's belief on this point may be seen in the subjoined short passage :—

It is evident, therefore, that considering the influences, whether favourable or otherwise, under which each of us has lived, that every man does his uttermost, and can do no more. When the voice speaks, we listen, and listen we must. When there is "no voice, nor any that answered," then we worship like Baal, like they of old. I will never believe that any man is wilfully bad, or that he acts against his own interests, if he knows it. If he be idle, it is because he has no energy, not because he has, and refuses to use itrefuse he cannot; if energy be in him, he will be

"There's no such thing as chance; And what to us seems merest accident, Springs from the deepest source of destiny." Another had said to the faint-hearted pilot, "Fear not, coward, thou carriest Caesar!" They all believed in dreams and divinations, in aspects and signs of the heavens, presaging human events. However barbarous such acts appear, and however great their ignorance, these men, nevertheless, excelled in the greatest element of greatness. They took their vantage-ground from inward intuition always, from rule and measure never, and they used war and havoc as mere means to some accomplishment which they deemed themselves called upon to perform. With all of them, the spiritualist was always above the soldier, and it was this which gave them such terrible influence over men's minds.

One more extract and we have done. There are brave truths in this passage:

The human race-aye, even to a man-if you scan it closely, lives in a certain sort of frenzy, and certain mild, quiescent natures appear more compact and contented than they really are. What thousands of irritating thoughts are they bound to endure in silence! What terrible and fitful suspicions sometimes, and hours of dreadful doubt, which need all the weight of those heavy tempers to quell! They quail before a solitary thought, and dare not be alone. It is their best policy always to be occupied, and never to break the solemn mockery of this happy ease. It is thus, because life and power proceed from within to the out