it is proposed to substitute a course beginning with English, passing to French, and finally (and this only exceptionally) concluding with the Classical languages. I have not reached that pitch of presumption which would make me enter the lists of controversy with so formidable an antagonist, but this proposal is quoted to give an example of what may be considered as the beau idéal of those modernists who are modern enough not to wish to oust Latin and Greek entirely from every course. The numbers of the latter party-let us be thankful for it are at present sufficiently few. The plea for the adoption of English is that the learner will be already familiar with it: and this is precisely a most principal argument on the other side. For it is proposed that the education of the greater portion of the men of England should be completed at a period at which they know no language but their own, or at most know only the French in addition, a language which, being modern, necessarily moves in a sphere of thought not dissimilar from English. That is to say the ordinary Englishman will henceforth not even have been put on the road, by following, which he may reach another world of thought. Perhaps it will here be objected that ordinary Englishmen know nothing so high as worlds of thought, that to suppose they do is flying at too high game; all we can say is that a system of education must be radically wrong if it does not propose some such object to be aimed at. Assuming then that Englishmen ought to be led into worlds of thought, it is of paramount importance that they should be led into worlds new to them, and wholly unlike what they are accustomed to. For if they remain only acquainted with what goes on around them, their sphere of intellectual vision becomes narrow, or rather is never enlarged from its original narrowness. We see how even such wonderfully gifted nations as the Greeks and Romans were affected by the want of another language, and another civilisation to compare with, and use for the correction of their own: let us beware lest we voluntarily throw away the means we now have of avoiding the errors into which they from this cause unconsciously fell. Time and space do not permit us much enlargement on this topic; we must rest content with the above feeble exposition of a fact which is above all others the great bulwark

of a Classical Education. It is not then on the superiority of the literature and language of the ancients that we rest our defence of a Classical Education, for it would be folly to resuscitate the old unsettled dispute on that question; but we take our stand on the importance of trying to show to every mind that there has been, and still survives in its literature, a world which was perfectly civilised, and looked on all topics from a wholly different point of view to that in which they are now regarded.

It will instantly be said that the Classical Educa tion which most boys receive will not go any way towards inducing them to devote any serious consi deration to the ideas which pervaded the ancient world. Something will be said about the "Seven Kings of Rome," Xenophon's Anabasis, and Ovid, and I shall be considered quashed. In the first place I contend that those who leave school have generally managed to rise above such a dead level as this. Secondly, if it be necessary to meet the adversary on his own ground, it may with full justice be maintained that those who will not learn, will refuse to learn English, and become acquainted with English literature, as steadily as they do to acquire any knowledge of the ancient world. They do not care for literature, and nothing will induce them to feel the slightest love for the literature either of England or Greece, or the Fiji Islands if there were one. We may almost say, a person who loves literature for its own sake "nascitur non fit." Moreover it would be very unfair to judge cf the results of Classical Education by its effects on such objects. A high ideal must be set up, though it be not always attained. And at this point we may protest against the Utopian hopes of the modernist party. They seem to imagine that the substitution of English for Latin grammar will have the instantaneous effect of making the dull clever, the lazy industrious. If such would be the effect of the substitution, let us try it, but that it would be is a question open to grave doubts. It is universally acknowledged that grammar is necessary for education: is it not more than probable that that very familiarity with the language whose grammar he is being taught, which is one of the points the modernists chiefly rely on, would cause the learner's mind to rebel against having his speech enthralled by rules to him apparently unnecessary? Add to

this the differences of the grammar of an analytical language, such as our own, compared with the conciseness of Latin or Greek.

Having rambled on so far, let us before concluding say one word to repel an accusation which will certainly be brought; it will be said "here is a fellow who would maintain in its entirety the bad old system of our Classics, all the Classics, and nothing but the Classics." Nothing, however, is farther from my wishes, which look for a reform, not a revolution. Let the Classics still retain their position, but let them yield some of their ground to other studies of English Literature, and of History before all neither let us, as far as we may, forget the value of the Sciences, of which we must, however, remember that their area is so vast, that while a mere smattering of all would be worse than useless, devotion to a single one would produce a narrowness of view, which may sometimes be seen in those who are engrossed in one such pursuit.

Finally, it is to be hoped that what has been said, will not be considered a piece of arrant presumption, on the part of one who cannot be considered a fair judge, inasmuch as he is now undergoing the effects of the education he has feebly attempted to defend.

NOVEMBER.

S. L. N.

The summer flowers are dead and gone,
The leaves are rotting on the ground,
An earthy smell like an opened grave
Fills all the cold, damp air around:
Dark clouds hang heavy in the sky,
The sun gives no more heat nor light,

The river-mist is rising slow,

And day is passing into night.

And I am fading with the rest;

For I count eighty years to-day: Life's spring, life's summer I have seen, And with the gayest I've been gay. And now life's autumn I have reached, And all my friends are gone before, A few years more and then comes Death,— Life's Winter,-and I ask no more.

* Ατη.

POETRY.

Two men, of minds so different as Cicero and Dr. Johnson, agree in their definition of poetry. The one says, "In poemate ad delectationem pleraque referuntur"; the other, "Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth by calling imagination to the help of reason."

A short reflection will serve to show that in so far as both these definitions assign pleasure as the criterion of poetic excellence, they are correct. All that is indispensable in the poet is indispensable to make his poetry pleasurable to the reader.

It would take too long and cover too much space to enter into the difficult question as to what make up the requisites of a poet. But out of the many we will shortly mention a few.

First the poet must possess imagination. He must be original in conceptions and in dealing with and working out conceptions. This he can only be by the aid of imagination, which will enable him to createnot elaborately but unconsciously-new forms out of old materials. This imagination must mark the poem throughout, alike in its broad design and in its minor details,

"Let gorgeous tragedy

In sceptred pall come sweeping by"

Closely allied to diction, and little inferior to it in importance, come rhythm and metre, which give pleasure to the ear, while they aid the language and help to raise it out of common phraseology.

These are a very few of the requisites of a poet; all of them are indispensable to poetry, nor without them can it afford pleasure. But the pleasure which it affords by the aid of them is something high and elevated, a pleasure which, though it appeals to the

senses, passes from them-refined not alloyed by the contact-to the intellect. It is an intellectual, not a sensual, pleasure which is the aim of poetry.

Such is the character of the pleasure produced, and such the means which combine to produce it. But it is not on account of these only that we feel pleasure; it is because true poetry strikes a sympathetic chord, wakes a responsive echo, in the mind, in the very soul, of the reader. This sympathy is owing to the fact that real poetry is, like other arts, imitation. Horace has said "Ut pictura poesis." He might have added that music and sculpture, no less than painting, resemble poetry in being imitative arts, only differing in so far as the imitation is produced by different means.

While painting and sculpture copy external shapes, poetry, and in a less degree music, reproduces the internal feelings excited by the contemplation of nature or man. It is in a great degree this conscious feeling while we read that every word and thought is a perfect reproduction that constitutes the charm of poetry. The pleasure is not necessarily caused by the happy re-production of joyous feelings; it may be equally caused by the sadder echo of more gloomy thoughts. It is wakened in our breast no less by the muffled peal of tragedy-" poetry in its deepest earnest "than by the silver chime of lyrics; because if tragedy has, as it should have, its prototype in real human woe, it will afford us, mingled with our sadness, pleasure at the perfect imitation.

There is an obvious objection which may be raised to Johnson's definition. "If," it may be urged reason is to be united to imagination and to control it, the field of imagination is miserably narrowed. When the mind is elevated, it will understand many conceptions of the imagination which calmer reason refuses to sanction; that is to say, much, which is unintelligible to our reason, is intelligible to our sympathies." But there is much to say in favour of Johnson's assertion. He says, pleasure must be united with truth; that is to say that the imagination must not be extravagant; that, though it may soar high, it must not fly out of sight. Noone would call Shelley as great a poet as Milton. But why not? There is perhaps more imagination, if there is less. thought, in Shelley. The reason is that the poetry of Milton, like that of all great masters, is

marked by reason and sanity; Shelley's is marked by neither. Both are inspired; the one by the natural inspiration of passion, the other by the inspiration, we had almost written the artificial inspiration, of madness. The whole nature of the one is raised and elevated: the other is lifted out of his nature.

It is in this respect above all others that a Shelley falls short of a Milton. The imagination is allowed.

to run wild, and in place of the beautiful flowers that should be born from it, uncultured weeds spring up lovely indeed in their luxuriant growth and wild. fertility, but far, far less lovely than they would have been had they been controlled by reason. Let it not be thought that we are advocating artificial culture in preference to natural grace; we are only condemning the latter, when it is allowed to unrealize its loveliness. This is the case with Shelley. He is hurried away by his imagination. His poetry is like pre-raphaelite painting and as beautiful as it, adorning every leaf and berry on the tree, but also like it, it is unnatural. His poetry is also, as was said above, wanting in sanity. With really great poetry the reader is left entranced in a state of perfect contentment that leaves him nothing to wish for: by Shelley's poetry he is borne along in breathless suspense through a pathless maze of redundant imagery. Carried into the word of the unreal-a fairyland of metaphor-he shuts the book without that feeling which must be familiar to all who know and appreciate Wordsworth, that he is a better man for what he has read, filled with nobler thoughts and higher aspirations.

We have wandered somewhat from our subject. Our apology must be the fact that Shelley of all poets, best exemplifies the truth of Dr. Johnson's definition.

HORACE. Od. I. 1.

Mæcenas mine, of royal line,
Protector, Pleasure, Pride!
There are who love in Pisa's grove
The Olympic car to guide,
And the goal to graze in dusty maze,
And the ennobling palm to find,
Which lifts on high to realms of sky

M. E. G.

The monarchs of mankind.

A second is proud, if fickle crowd

Its amplest honours yields;

A third, if in hoard of his own he has stored

Grain swept from Libya's fields.

"Tis another's will with hoe to till

Paternal farm, and never

By stores untold of Attalic gold
His purpose will you sever;
Tempt him to brave Myrtoan wave,
Or ply the nautic oar;

The foaming tide he'll ne'er divide

In barque from Cyprian shore.

When the Southwest raves 'gainst Icarian waves,

The timid trader hates

The wrestling seas and the battling breeze,

And on country town dilates,

And on quiet fields; but soon he yields

To force of new temptation;

His ships he repairs and the ocean redares,

Untaught to bear privation. Another's soul is in the bowl

Of Massic vintage red;

Now stretched at ease 'neath arbute trees, Now at some fountain's head;

At early day he whiles away

The hours to business due;

On pleasure bent his life is spent

In revelry anew.

The battle-fray and the trumpet's bray

And the clarion's mingled jar

Please many an ear, and they have no fear Of matron-hated war.

'Neath the cold sky will the hunter lie On the mountain summit hoar,

If his hounds well tried a hind have spied, Or a rushing Marsian boar

Has burst the net so trimly set

With cordage closely twined:

Ah! little he'll heed the tender plead
Of consort left behind!

My own delight is the ivy bright,

The meed of learned brows;

I am raised above to the realms of Jove
By the glory it bestows;

The shady grove which poets love

Severs me from the throng,

When nymphs clad-light with Faun's delight To mingle the dance among.

And if the muse should not refuse

To string the Lesbian lute,

Or her sister fair withhold her share
Of the sweetly-breathing flute;

Nay, if, Patron mine, thou wilt not decline

SIR,-There is an old adage that "Familiarity breeds Contempt." Of course this is often true, but it is equally true that familiarity teaches us to look with complacency on many things that ought rather to call for contempt.

If we were perfectly ignorant of such a place as Marlborough, its nature and its institutions, and were to be told that at that school they called their houses by names so insignificant as A. B. and C., should we not expect to find at Marlborough, may be, a most excellent National School, or at best a Grammar School, rather than a great and a rising public school?

I can imagine the howl of execration that will greet this proposal to abolish a "time-honoured custom," and the "righteous indignation" of those fancied Conservatives, who make Conservatism a cloak for bigotry, and cry out against all change, whether for good or evil, whether called for or unnecessary. But the real Conservative is as anxious as the Liberal to remedy real abuses, or whatever else needs amending, and the names of our houses are in the latter category.

It is no good crying out against existing customs without proposing a remedy. But in this case we have not to look for a remedy; we have one ready at hand. Surely all will agree that the " Old House," the "New House," and the "Lower School" are infinitely more dignified than B. C. and A. Can anything be more ignominous than, when asked by a member of another school what house you are in, to be reduced to saying "B." or "C."?

Hoping that on Wednesday we shall hear the back players shouting respectively "go in, Old House " and "take it through, New House," (and I believe the cry will be responded to as heartily as to "B." and "C.,") and that you, Sir, will adopt these sug

gestions, and always call the houses by their more respectable names in your columns.

Ir emain, Sir, yours truly,

A CONSERVATIVE.

[We think the suggestion a most excellent one, and will certainly adopt it ourselves for the future.ED. M.]

NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY.

MEETING HELD NOVEMBER 15TH.

H. M. Hilton gave a list of Entomological Captures made during the past fortnight.

Various coins, among which were some of the Roman Empire, found near Bristol, were exhibited by G. G. Monck, and a carved walking-stick, made from the oak of York Minster, by the president.

E. Almack gave a short description of the origin of the "Grey Wethers."

Dr. Fergus then gave a lecture on the Ear, which he illustrated by numerous diagrams and experiments. There were 111 persons present.

Football.

OLD MARLBURIANS v. WIMBLEDON SCHOOL.

This match was played at Wimbledon on Wednesday November 13th, and resulted in favour of the Old Marlburians by one goal to one touch-down. The day was all that could be wished, and the game was well kept up and apparently greatly enjoyed by both sides. The place of rendezvous was Waterloo Station, and here, out of some thirty Marlburians whose attendance had been solicited, only nine appeared, but two emergencies had been already provided, and at the last moment three members of the Blackheath Club who happened to be in the Station were impressed and carried off. For Old Marlburians, Isaacson, and Pattison represented the backs, and Bourdillon

and Foss the half-backs; while for Wimbledon, Clark and Osborne were back, but the names of the half-backs are unfortunately lost in oblivion. Play commenced at 3. 10, when the Wimbledonians, having lost the toss, kicked off the ball was immediately taken back through the agency of a good drop from Isaacson which was followed up by a vigorous charge. This state of things continued till Graves dropped a neat goal for the Old Marlburians. On changing over, the School, who were rather taken by surprise, played up splendidly and kept the ball well out of their goals, till the Old Marlburiaus, who were much heavier, though in very bad training, forced them back, and kept the ball well up, without however getting a good chance at goal. The game swayed backwards and forwards, if anything slightly in favour of the strangers, till about 4 o'clock, when they drove the ball well up into the enemy's country, and kept it there just outside the touch line for some time, but they could not manage a touch-down and the condition of the School beginning to tell they turned the tables on their opponents, and placed their goal in peril. Clark's running was very good, and a good run down and a capital drop at the goal sent the ball behind, where it was touched down by Allen. The punt out was unsuccessful and the school were rather penned for the rest of the time till 4.30, when "No Game" was called. Without the eyes of Argus it was impossible to remark the perpetrator of every piece of good play, but for Wimbledon we must especially notice the admirable running and "dropping" of Clark, and of Osborne. Forward, Coles, Maude, and Brackenbury were all we could recognise as distinguishing themselves. For Old Marlburians W. Blaker played splendidly forward, as did Parson, Wadeson, Erskine, Graves, and Bagot; while Foss and Currey (half-back) and Bourdillon, who succeeded Isaacson as back when the latter was disabled by a hack, were not without their meed of praise. The School backed up and stuck to their work to perfection, but were evidently outweighted, while the Old Marlburians gave them Roland for their Oliver with the utmost impartiality. We are in a position to state that a match, Old Marlburians v. Haileybury College, is in agitation. Subjoined are the names of the players on each side :

Old Marlburians.-J. Bourdillon (Captain), E. Bagot, W. C. Blaker, H. Blaker, F. I. Currey, H. Foss,