picted there by an old nurse's tales of ghosts and hobgoblins of darkness. Now with their minds in this pure, healthy, voracious state, the sons of all our noblest families, and of the most estimable people in the country, are, after certain preparations, eventually sent to those slaughter-houses of the understanding-our public schools, where, weaned from the charms of the living world, they are nailed to the study of two dead languages-like galley slaves, they are chained to these oars, and are actually flogged if they neglect to labour. Instead of imbibing knowledge suited to their youthful age, they are made to learn the names of Acteon's hounds-to study the life of Alexander's horse-to know the fate of Alcibiades' dog; in short, it is too well known, that Dr. Lempriere made £3000 a-year by the sale of a dictionary, in which he had amassed," for the use of schools," tales and rubbish of this description. The poor boy at last "gets," as it is termed, into "Ovid," where he is made to study every thing which human ingenuity could invent to sally, degrade, and ruin the mind of a young person. The Almighty God of the universe is caricatured by a set of grotesque personages termed gods and goddesses, so grossly sensual, so inordinately licentious, that were they to-day to appear in London, before sunset, they would probably be, every one of them, where they ought to be-at the tread-mill. The poor boy, however, must pore over all their amours, natural and unnatural; he must learn the birth, parentage, and education of each, with the biography of their numerous offspring, earthly as well as unearthly. He must study love letters from the heavens to the earth, and metamorphoses, which have almost all some low, impure object. The only geography he learns is "the world known to the ancients.' Although a member of the first mari time nation on the globe, he learns no nautical science but possessed by people who scarcely dared to leave their shores; all his knowledge of military life is that childish picture of it which might fairly be entitled " war without gunpowder." But even the little which on these subjects he does learn, is so mixed up with fable, that his mind gets puzzled, and debilitated to such a degree, that he becomes actually unable to distinguish truth from falsehood, and when he reads that Hannibal melted the Alps with vinegar, he does not know whether it be really true or not.-Ib. 57. Now supposing, for a single moment, that English education be admitted to be as useless and dangerous as I have endeavoured to describe it, let us consider what might naturally be expected to be its practical political effects. In our two Houses of Parliament, classical eloquence would unavoidably become the order of the day; and classical allusions, when neatly expressed, would always receive that heartfelt cheer which even the oldest among us are unable to withhold from what reminds us of the pleasures and attachments of our early days. Thus encouraged, young statesmen would feel their power, rather than their inexperience; and, with their minds stored with knowledge declared to possess intrinsic value, they would not be very backward in displaying it. Language rather than matter, would then become the object of emulation-speeches would swell into orations and in this contention and conflict of genius, men of cleverness, ready wit, brilliant imagination, retentive memory, caustic reply, and last, though not least, soundness of constitution, would rise to the surface, far above those who, with much deeper reflection, much heavier sense, more sterling knowledge, and more powerful judgment, were yet found to be wanting in activity in their parts of speech. Baffled, therefore, in their laconic attempts to expound their uninteresting leger-like, unfashionable opinions, this useful class of men would probably, by silence or otherwise, retire from the unequal contest, which would become more and more of an art, until extraordinary talent was required to carry political questions so plain and simple, that were votes mutually to be given by any set of hum-drum men, there would scarcely be a difference in their opinions. In the midst of this civil war, a young man scarcely one-and-twenty, would be very likely rapidly to rise to be the prime minister of our great commercial country! for although, if this world teaches us any one moral, it is, THAT YOUTH AND INEXPERIENCE ARE SYNONYMOUS; yet when talent only be the palm, surely none have better right to contend for it than the young.—Ib. 58. Seated on the exalted pinnacle which he has most fairly and honourably attained, if not by general acclamation, at least by the applauding voice of the majority, he must, of course, stand against the intellectual tempest which has unnaturally brought a person of his age to the surface. Accordingly, by the main strength of his youthful genius, by his admitted superiority of talent, this beardless pilot would, probably, triumphantly maintain his place at the helm; requiring, however, support from those of his admirers, most approaching in eloquence to himself. To obtain the services of some great orator, he would (copying the system of his opponents) be induced to appoint a man, for instance, secretary for the colonies, who on this earth had never reached the limits even of its temperate zone; another, who had not heard a shot fired, or even seen a shell in the air, would, perhaps, be created master general of our ordnance; in short, talent being the weapon or single-stick of Parliament, he would, like others before him, arm himself with it at any cost, and thus reign triumphant ! (There is something beneath all this.-Comp.) However, without supposing such an extreme case, let us fairly recall to mind a miserable fact of yesterday. In the fatal year 1825, the British government conceived the purely classical and highly practical idea of "bringing a new world into existence!" Most people will remember with what flowery eloquence the elegant project was laid before Parliament, and how loudly and generally it was cheered-the blind were led by the blind-all our senators being equally charmed at the splendid possibility of their thus politically dabbling in creation. The truth, or moral, however, came upon us at last, like the simoon upon the traveller, who ignorantly ventures on the deserts of Africa. The country almost foundered; and though she has, to a certain degree, recovered from the shock, yet thousands of widows, orphans, and people of small incomes, are to this day in indigence and sorrow, secretly lamenting the hour in which the high-flown Parliamentary project was disseminated.-Ïb. 59. The mute steadiness of British troops under firethe total want of bluster or bravado in our naval actions--where, as we all know, "There is silence deep in death, The laconic manner in which business all over England is transacted (millions being exchanged with little more than a nod of assent); in short, our national respect for silent conduct, form a most extraordinary contrast with the flatulent eloquence of our Parliamentary debates.-Ib. 60. Shall But to return to our houses of Parliament. we now proceed to calculate what would be the expense of such a system of government or misgovernment as that which has just been shown to have proceeded, not from the imbecility of individuals, but from the system of false education maintained by our public schools and universities! No! no! for the history of our country has already solved this great problem, and, at this moment, does it record to our posterity, as well as to the whole world, that the expense of a great mercantile nation looking behind it, instead of before it-the price of its statesmen studying ancient poets, instead of modern discoveries of mistaking the “orbis veteribus cognitus" for the figure of the earth, amounts to neither more nor less than a national debt of eight hundred millions of English pounds sterling! In short, economy having fatally been classed at our universities among the vulgar arts, the current expenses of our statesmen have, naturally enough, been ordered to be put down to their children, just as their college bills were carelessly ordered to be forwarded to their fathers. However, so long as a nation is willing to chuse at the above enormous, or at any still greater price, the luxury of reading Greek and Latin poetry, the misfortune at first appears to be only pecuniary; and it might almost further be argued, that a nation, like an individual, ought to be allowed to spend its money according to its own whim and fancy; but, |