Part 27

I have drawn out this specimen at the risk of wearying the reader; but I have wished to bring out clearly what it really is which an Entrance Examination should aim at and require in its students. This young man had read the Anabasis, and had some general idea what the word meant; but he had no accurate knowledge how the word came to have its meaning, or of the history and geography implied in it. This being the case, it was useless, or rather hurtful, for a boy like him to amuse himself with running through Grote’s many volumes, or to cast his eye over Matthiæ’s minute criticisms. Indeed, this seems to have been Mr. Brown’s stumbling-block; he began by saying that he had read Demosthenes, Virgil, Juvenal, and I do not know how many other authors. Nothing is more common in an age like this, when books abound, than to fancy that the gratification of a love of reading is real study. Of course there are youths who shrink even from story books, and cannot be coaxed into getting through a tale of romance. Such Mr. Brown was not; but there are others, and I suppose he was in their number, who certainly have a taste for reading, but in whom it is little more than the result of mental restlessness and curiosity. Such minds cannot fix their gaze on one object for two seconds together; the very impulse which leads them to read at all, leads them to read on, and never to stay or hang over any one idea. The pleasurable excitement of reading what is new is their motive principle; and the imagination that they are doing something, and the boyish vanity which accompanies it, are their reward. Such youths often profess to like poetry, or to like history or biography; they are fond of lectures on certain of the physical sciences; or they may possibly have a real and true taste for natural history or other cognate subjects;—and so far they may be regarded with satisfaction; but on the other hand they profess that they do not like logic, they do not like algebra, they have no taste for mathematics; which only means that they do not like application, they do not like attention, they shrink from the effort and labour of thinking, and the process of true intellectual gymnastics. The consequence will be that, when they grow up, they may, if it so happen, be agreeable in conversation, they may be well informed in this or that department of knowledge, they may be what is called literary; but they will have no consistency, steadiness, or perseverance; they will not be able to make a telling speech, or to write a good letter, or to fling in debate a smart antagonist, unless so far as, now and then, mother-wit supplies a sudden capacity, which cannot be ordinarily counted on. They cannot state an argument or a question, or take a clear survey of a whole transaction, or give sensible and appropriate advice under difficulties, or do any of those things which inspire confidence and gain influence, which raise a man in life, and make him useful to his religion or his country.

* * * * *

And now, having instanced what I mean by the _want_ of accuracy, and stated the results in which I think it issues, I proceed to sketch, by way of contrast, an examination which displays a student, who, whatever may be his proficiency, at least knows what he is about, and has tried to master what he has read. I am far from saying that every candidate for admission must come up to its standard:—

_T._ I think you have named Cicero’s Letters ad Familiares, Mr. Black? Open, if you please, at Book xi., Epistle 29, and begin reading.

_C. reads._ Cicero Appio salutem. Dubitanti mihi (quod scit Atticus noster), de hoc toto consilio profectionis, quod in utramque partem in mentem multa veniebant, magnum pondus accessit ad tollendam dubitationem, judicium et consilium tuum. Nam et scripsisti aperte, quid tibi videretur; et Atticus ad me sermonem tuum pertulit. Semper judicavi, in te, et in capiendo consilio prudentiam summam esse, et in dando fidem; maximeque sum expertus, cùm, initio civilis belli, per literas te consuluissem quid mihi faciendum esse censeres; eundumne ad Pompeium an manendum in Italiâ.

_T._ Very well, stop there; Now construe. _C._ Cicero Appio salutem.… _Cicero greets Appius._

_T. __“__Greets Appius.__”_ True; but it sounds stiff in English, doesn’t it? What is the real English of it? _C._ “My _dear_ Appius?”…

_T._ That will do; go on. _C._ Dubitanti mihi, quod scit Atticus noster, _While I was hesitating, as our friend Atticus knows_.…

_T._ That is right. _C._ De hoc toto consilio profectionis, _about the whole plan … entire project_ … de hoc toto consilio profectionis … _on the subject of my proposed journey … on my proposed journey altogether_.

_T._ Never mind; go on; any of them will do. _C._ Quod in utramque partem in mentem multa veniebant, _inasmuch as many considerations both for and against it came into my mind_, magnum pondus accessit ad tollendam dubitationem, _it came with great force to remove my hesitation_.

_T._ What do you mean by “accessit”? _C._ It means _it contributed to turn the scale_; accessit, _it was an addition to one side_.

_T._ Well, it may mean so, but the words run, ad tollendam dubitationem. _C._ It was a great … it was a powerful help towards removing my hesitation … no … _this was a powerful help, viz., your judgment and advice_.

_T._ Well, what is the construction of “pondus” and “judicium”? _C. Your advice came as a great weight_.

_T._ Very well, go on. _C._ Nam et scripsisti aperte quid tibi videretur; _for you distinctly wrote your opinion_.

_T._ Now, what is the force of “nam”? _C. pauses; then_, It refers to “accessit” … it is an explanation of the fact, that Appius’s opinion was a help.

_T._ “Et”; you omitted “et” … “et scripsisti.” _C._ It is one of two “ets”; et scripsisti, et Atticus.

_T._ Well, but why don’t you construe it? _C._ Et scripsisti, _you both distinctly_.…

_T._ No; tell me, _why_ did you leave it out? had you a reason? _C._ I thought it was only the Latin style, to dress the sentence, to make it antithetical; and was not English.

_T._ Very good, still, you can express it; try. _C. Also_, with the second clause?

_T._ That is right, go on. _C._ Nam et, _for you distinctly stated in writing your opinion_, et Atticus ad me sermonem tuum pertulit, _and Aticus too sent me word of what you said,… of what you said to him in conversation_.

_T._ “Pertulit.” _C._ It means that Atticus conveyed on to Cicero the conversation he had with Appius.

_T. Who_ was Atticus? _C. is silent._

_T._ Who was Atticus? _C._ I didn’t think it came into the examination.…

_T._ Well, I didn’t say it did: but still you can tell me who Atticus was. _C._ A great friend of Cicero’s.

_T._ Did he take much part in politics? _C._ No.

_T._ What were his opinions? _C._ He was an Epicurean.

_T._ What was an Epicurean? _C. is silent, then_, Epicureans lived for themselves.

_T._ You are answering very well, sir; proceed. _C._ Semper judicavi, _I have ever considered_, in te, et in capiendo consilio prudentiam summam esse, et in dando fidem; _that your wisdom was of the highest order_ … _that you had the greatest wisdom … that nothing could exceed the wisdom of your resolves, or the honesty of your advice_.

_T._ “Fidem.” _C._ It means _faithfulness to the person asking_ … maximeque sum expertus, _and I had a great proof of it_.…

_T._ _Great_; why don’t you say _greatest_? “maxime” is superlative. _C._ The Latins use the superlative, when they only mean the positive.

_T._ You mean, when English uses the positive; can you give me an instance of what you mean? _C._ Cicero always speaks of others as amplissimi, optimi, doctissimi, clarissimi.

_T._ Do they ever use the comparative for the positive? _C. thinks, then_, Certior factus sum.

_T._ Well, perhaps; however, here, “maxime” may mean _special_, may it not? _C. And I had a special proof of it_, cùm, initio civilis belli, per literas te consuluissem, _when, on the commencement of the civil war, I had written to ask your advice_, quid mihi faciendum esse censeres, _what you thought I ought to do_, eundumne ad Pompeium, an manendum in Italiâ, _to go to Pompey, or to remain in Italy_.

_T._ Very well, now stop. Dubitanti mini, quod scit Atticus noster. You construed quod, _as_. _C._ I meant the relative _as_.

_T._ Is _as_ a relative? _C. As_ is used in English for the relative, as when we say _such as_ for _those who_.

_T._ Well, but why do you use it here? What is the antecedent to “quod”? _C._ The sentence Dubitanti mihi, etc.

_T._ Still, construe “quod” literally. _C. A thing which._

_T._ Where is _a thing?_ _C._ It is understood.

_T._ Well, but put it in. _C._ Illud quod.

_T._ Is that right? what is the common phrase? _C. is silent._

_T._ Did you ever see “illud quod” in that position? is it the phrase? _C. is silent._

_T._ It is commonly “id quod,” isn’t it? id quod. _C._ Oh, I recollect, id quod.

_T._ Well, which is more common, “quod,” or “id quod,” when the sentence is the antecedent? _C._ I think “id quod.”

_T._ At least it is far more distinct; yes, I think it is more common. What could you put instead of it? _C._ Quod quidem.

_T._ Now, dubitanti mihi; what is “mihi” governed by? _C._ Accessit.

_T._ No; hardly. _C. is silent._

_T._ Does “accessit” govern the dative? _C._ I thought it did.

_T._ Well, it may; but would Cicero use the dative after it? what is the more common practice with words of motion? Do you say, Venit mihi, _he came to me_? _C._ No, Venit ad me;—I recollect.

_T._ That is right; venit ad me. Now, for instance, “incumbo:” what case does “incumbo” govern? _C._ Incumbite remis?

_T._ Where is that? in Cicero? _C._ No, in Virgil. Cicero uses “in”; I recollect, incumbere in opus … ad opus.

_T._ Well, then, _is_ this “mihi” governed by “accessit”? _what_ comes after accessit? _C._ I see; it is, accessit ad tollendam dubitationem.

_T._ That is right; but then, what after all do you do with “mihi”? how is it governed? _C. is silent._

_T._ How is “mihi” governed, if it does not come after “accessit”? _C. pauses, then_, “Mihi” … “mihi” is often used so; and “tibi” and “sibi”: I mean “suo sibi gladio hunc jugulo”; … “venit mihi in mentem”; that is, _it came into my mind_; and so, “accessit mihi ad tollendam,” etc.

_T._ That is very right. _C._ I recollect somewhere in Horace, vellunt tibi barbam.

Etc., etc.

4.

And now, my patient reader, I suspect you have had enough of me on this subject; and the best I can expect from you is, that you will say: “His first pages had some amusement in them, but he is dullish towards the end.” Perhaps so; but then you must kindly bear in mind that the latter part is about a steady careful youth, and the earlier part is not; and that goodness, exactness, and diligence, and the correct and the unexceptionable, though vastly more desirable than their contraries in fact, are not near so entertaining in fiction.

§ 2.

Composition.

1.

I am able to present the reader by anticipation with the correspondence which will pass between Mr. Brown’s father and Mr. White, the tutor, on the subject of Mr. Brown’s examination for entrance at the University. And, in doing so, let me state the reason why I dwell on what many will think an extreme case, or even a caricature. I do so, because what may be called exaggeration is often the best means of _bringing out_ certain faults of the mind which do indeed exist commonly, if not in that degree. If a master in carriage and deportment wishes to carry home to one of his boys that he slouches, he will caricature the boy himself, by way of impressing on the boy’s intellect a sort of abstract and typical representation of the ungraceful habit which he wishes corrected. When we once have the simple and perfect ideas of things in our minds, we refer the particular and partial manifestations of them to these types; we recognize what they are, good or bad, as we never did before, and we have a guide set up within us to direct our course by. So it is with principles of taste, good breeding, or of conventional fashion; so it is in the fine arts, in painting, or in music. We cannot even understand the criticism passed on these subjects until we have set up for ourselves the ideal standard of what is admirable and what is absurd.

So is it with the cultivation and discipline of the mind, it a handsomer place than I thought for—really a respectable town. But it is sadly behind the world in many things. Think of its having no Social Science, not even a National Gallery or British Museum! nor have they any high art here: some good public buildings, but very pagan. The bay is a fine thing.

“I called with your letter on Mr. Black, who introduced me to the professors, some of whom, judging by their skulls, are clever men.

“There is a lot here for examination, and an Exhibition is to be given to the best. I should like to get it. Young Black,—you saw him once,—is one of them; I knew him at school; he is a large fellow now, though younger than I am. If he be the best of them, I shall not be much afraid.

“Well—in I went yesterday, and was examined. It was such a queer concern. One of the junior Tutors had me up, and he must be a new hand, he was so uneasy. He gave me the slowest examination! I don’t know to this minute what he was at. He first said a word or two, and then was silent. He then asked me why we came up to Dublin, and did not go down; and put some absurd little questions about βαίνω. I was tolerably satisfied with myself, but he gave me no opportunity to show off. He asked me literally nothing; he did not even give me a passage to construe for a long time, and then gave me nothing more than two or three easy sentences. And he kept playing with his paper knife, and saying: ‘How are you now, Mr. Brown? don’t be alarmed, Mr. Brown; take your time, Mr. Brown; you know very well, Mr. Brown;’ so that I could hardly help laughing. I never was less afraid in my life. It would be wonderful if such an examination _could_ put me out of countenance.

“There’s a lot of things which I know very well, which the Examiner said not a word about. Indeed, I think I have been getting up a great many things for nothing;—provoking enough. I had read a good deal of Grote; but though I told him so, he did not ask me one question in it; and there’s Whewell, Macaulay, and Schlegel, all thrown away.

“He has not said a word yet where I am to be lodged. He looked quite confused when I asked him. He is, I suspect, a _character_.

“Your dutiful son, etc.,

“ROBERT.”

_Mr. White to Mr. Brown, sen._

“MY DEAR SIR,

“I have to acknowledge the kind letter you sent me by your son, and I am much pleased to find the confidence you express in us. Your son seems an amiable young man, of studious habits, and there is every hope, when he joins us, of his passing his academical career with respectability, and his examination with credit. This is what I should have expected from his telling me that he had been educated at home under your own paternal eye; indeed, if I do not mistake, you have undertaken the interesting office of instructor yourself.

“I hardly know what best to recommend to him at the moment: his reading has been _desultory_; he knows _something_ about a great many things, of which youths of his age commonly know nothing. Of course we _could_ take him into residence now, if you urge it; but my advice is that he should first direct his efforts to distinct preparation for our examination, and to study its particular character. Our rule is to recommend youths to do a _little well_, instead of throwing themselves upon a large field of study. I conceive it to be your son’s fault of mind not to see exactly the _point_ of things, nor to be so well _grounded_ as he might be. Young men are indeed always wanting in _accuracy_; this kind of deficiency is not peculiar to him, and he will doubtless soon overcome it when he sets about it.

“On the whole, then, if you will kindly send him up six months hence he will be more able to profit by our lectures. I will tell him what to read in the meanwhile. Did it depend on me, I should send him for that time to a good school or college, or I could find you a private Tutor for him.

“I am, etc.”

_Mr. Brown, sen., to Mr. White._

“SIR,

“Your letter, which I have received by this morning’s post, is gratifying to a parent’s feelings, so far as it bears witness to the impression which my son’s amiableness and steadiness have made on you. He is indeed a most exemplary lad: fathers are partial, and their word about their children is commonly not to be taken; but I flatter myself that the present case is an exception to the rule; for, if ever there was a well-conducted youth, it is my dear son. He is certainly very clever; and a closer student, and, for his age, of more extensive reading and sounder judgment, does not exist.

“With this conviction, you will excuse me if I say that there were portions of your letter which I could not reconcile with that part of it to which I have been alluding. You say he is ‘a young man of _studious habits_,’ having ‘_every hope_ of passing his academical career with respectability, and _his examination with credit_;’ you allow that ‘he knows something about a _great many things_, of which youths of his age commonly _know nothing_:’ no common commendation, I consider; yet, in spite of this, you recommend, though you do not exact, as a complete disarrangement of my plans (for I do not know how long my duties will keep me in Ireland), a postponement of his coming into residence for six months.

“Will you allow me to suggest an explanation of this inconsistency? It is found in your confession that the examination is of a ‘particular character.’ Of course it is very right in the governors of a great Institution to be ‘particular,’ and it is not for me to argue with them. Nevertheless, I cannot help saying, that at this day nothing is so much wanted in education as _general_ knowledge. This alone will fit a youth _for the world_. In a less stirring time, it may be well enough to delay in particularities, and to trifle over minutiæ; but the world will not stand still for us, and, unless we are up to its requisitions, we shall find ourselves thrown out of the contest. A man must have _something in him_ now, to make his way; and the sooner we understand this, the better.

“It mortified me, I confess, to hear from my son, that you did not try him in a greater number of subjects, in handling which he would probably have changed your opinion of him. He has a good memory, and a great talent for history, ancient and modern, especially constitutional and parliamentary; another favourite study with him is the philosophy of history. He has read Pritchard’s Physical History, Cardinal Wiseman’s Lectures on Science, Bacon’s Advancement of Learning, Macaulay, and Hallam: I never met with a faster reader. I have let him attend, in England, some of the most talented lecturers in chemistry, geology, and comparative anatomy, and he sees the Quarterly Reviews and the best Magazines, as a matter of course. Yet on these matters not a word of examination!

“I have forgotten to mention, he has a very pretty idea of poetical composition: I enclose a fragment which I have found on his table, as well as one of his prose Essays.

“Allow me, as a warm friend of your undertaking, to suggest, that the _substance_ of knowledge is far more valuable than its _technicalities_; and that the vigour of the youthful mind is but _wasted_ on _barren_ learning, and its ardour is _quenched_ in _dry_ disquisition.

“I have the honour to be, etc.”

On the receipt of this letter, Mr. White will find, to his dissatisfaction, that he has not advanced one hair’s breadth in bringing home to Mr. Brown’s father the real state of the case, and has done no more than present himself as a mark for certain commonplaces, very true, but very inappropriate to the matter in hand. Filled with this disappointing thought, for a while he will not inspect the enclosures of Mr. Brown’s letter, being his son’s attempts at composition. At length he opens them, and reads as follows:

_Mr. Brown’s poetry_.

THE TAKING OF SEBASTOPOL.(40)

Oh, might I flee to Araby the blest, The world forgetting, but its gifts possessed, Where fair-eyed peace holds sway from shore to shore, And war’s shrill clarion frights the air no more.

Heard ye the cloud-compelling blast(41) awake The slumbers of the inhospitable lake?(42) Saw ye the banner in its pride unfold The blush of crimson and the blaze of gold?

Raglan and St. Arnaud, in high command, Have steamed from old Byzantium’s hoary strand; The famed Cyanean rocks presaged their fight, Twin giants, with the astonished Muscovite.

So the loved maid, in Syria’s balmy noon, Forebodes the coming of the hot simoon, And sighs.… And longs.… And dimly traces.…

* * * * *

_Mr. Brown’s prose._

“FORTES FORTUNA ADJUVAT.”

“Of all the uncertain and capricious powers which rule our earthly destiny, fortune is the chief. Who has not heard of the poor being raised up, and the rich being laid low? Alexander the Great said he envied Diogenes in his tub, because Diogenes could have nothing less. We need not go far for an instance of fortune. Who was so great as Nicholas, the Czar of all the Russias, a year ago, and now he is ‘fallen, fallen from his high estate, without a friend to grace his obsequies.’(43) The Turks are the finest specimen of the human race, yet they, too, have experienced the vicissitudes of fortune. Horace says that we should wrap ourselves in our virtue, when fortune changes. Napoleon, too, shows us how little we can rely on fortune; but his faults, great as they were, are being redeemed by his nephew, Louis Napoleon, who has shown himself very different from what we expected, though he has never explained how he came to swear to the Constitution, and then mounted the imperial throne.

“From all this it appears, that we should rely on fortune only while it remains,—recollecting the words of the thesis, ‘Fortes fortuna adjuvat;’ and that, above all, we should ever cultivate those virtues which will never fail us, and which are a sure basis of respectability, and will profit us here and hereafter.”

* * * * *

On reading these compositions over, Mr. White will take to musing; then he will reflect that he may as well spare himself the trouble of arguing with a correspondent, whose principle and standard of judgment is so different from his own; and so he will write a civil letter back to Mr. Brown, enclosing the two papers.

3.

Mr. Brown, however, has not the resignation of Mr. White; and, on his Dublin friend, Mr. Black, paying him a visit, he will open his mind to him; and I am going to tell the reader all that will pass between the two.

Mr. Black is a man of education and of judgment. He knows the difference between show and substance; he is penetrated with the conviction that Rome was not built in a day, that buildings will not stand without foundations, and that, if boys are to be taught well, they must be taught slowly, and step by step. Moreover, he thinks in his secret heart that his own son Harry, whose acquaintance we have already formed, is worth a dozen young Browns. To him, then, not quite an impartial judge, Mr. Brown unbosoms his dissatisfaction, presenting to him his son’s Theme as an _experimentum crucis_ between him and Mr. White. Mr. Black reads it through once, and then a second time; and then he observes—

“Well, it is only the sort of thing which any boy would write, neither better nor worse. I speak candidly.”

On Mr. Brown expressing disappointment, inasmuch as the said Theme is _not_ the sort of thing which any boy could write, Mr. Black continues—

“There’s not one word of it upon the thesis; but all boys write in this way.”