Arnold. Both the public and schools are content if masters are men of high classical attainment, if they have obtained distinguished honours at the universities, if they can construe any bit of Greek or Latin, if they turn out a good supply of special boys, who carry off in abundance open scholarships and prizes. These are esteemed good schoolmasters, and their schools are lifted up on the wave of public admiration. And yet for all that, they may be in fact radically bad schoolmasters, and the successes achieved by their eminent pupils may furnish but a most scanty justification of the general results of their schools. They may be totally wanting in the true gift of teaching: and a classical education is but a lame affair for the mass of boys without a real teacher.

And in what does the gift of teaching consist? Assuredly not in the possession of a large body of solid learning; that is the smallest and least important qualification for educating youth. It consists infinitely more in the power of sympathy, the ability to place one's self in the exact position of the learner, to see things as he sees them, to feel the difficulties exactly as he feels them, to understand the precise point at which the obstacle bars the way, to be able to present the solution precisely in the form which will open the understanding of the pupil, and enable him, in gathering the new piece of knowledge, to comprehend its nature and its value. Such a teacher will take the mind of the boy as his starting point-and will just keep ahead of his intellectual state, so as to furnish him with such matter only as he will be able to assimilate; his questions will just range above his level, but yet not out of his reach; above all he will feel the true essence, the one function of his task, to make the boy's mind act for itself, and the teacher's office to consist merely in assisting the pupil to think and to understand. This is a work of sympathy, of love, of a genuine delight in the pleasure of teaching, a delight which finds its gratification in perceiving that the pupil has taken in and truly apprehended the knowledge that was set before him. Then as the mind of the learner grows in strength, other powers of the true teacher will come into play. He will seek to impart something higher than accurate information rightly apprehended. He will awaken the perception of broader relations; he will suggest principles and generalizations; he will so handle his own stores as to let the pupil catch first glimpses, then successively clear outlines of the ultimate form in which his own knowledge has finally settled down; whilst the charmed disciple is brought to rejoice in his own strength, to feel that he, too, has the power of grasping high and broad truths, to look with awe at first at the heights which the teacher has succeeded in reaching, and at last to become conscious that he, too, may crown them also, and even rise above them. All this and much more lies in a classical education, in the wide ranges of Greek and Latin writers, in their poetry, their history, their moral and political philosophy. It lies scattered in rich profusion in the verses of a Homer and an Eschylus, the speeches of a Pericles, the political and moral studies of an Aristotle, the orations of a

Cicero and a Demosthenes, and, be it added, in the sacred works of the Greek Scriptures. As I have already pointed out, the deadness of these ancient tongues confers a vast additional force on the process. The student is compelled to travel slowly; he is driven to probe the inner mind, the real thought, of his author; he is forced to seek a rendering which will fit in with the context, and with the general course of the argument, and he must thus of necessity master the bearing and significance of the feeling or the argument. What can be conceived more truly calculated to bring out every element of his own nature ? How is it possible to devise a more efficient machinery for enabling the mind of a teacher in all its fulness to act on the expanding faculties of a disciple? And thus at last we reach the culminating point of a classical education, that there is no man so great, if only he is endowed with the true faculty of teaching, who may not find it a field worthy of his noblest powers. Successful generals and prominent statesmen easily command the admiration of mankind. They dazzle by the apparent size and magnitude of the effects they produce. To have defeated a large army, to have guided the destinies of an imperial State, affect directly the lives and positions of millions: the men that wield such powers must be the loftiest of mankind. Yet is it so in truth? If we think only on what man is, if we reflect that the form and colour of both individual and social life must absolutely depend on the minds and characters of the men who compose it, is it true that statesmen and generals determine the course and happiness of humanity in a higher degree than those who form and construct, as it were, humanity itself? No one doubts that the public schools and the universities of England produce wide and lasting effects on her national character. That great writers move the thoughts and opinions of many generations is a simple truism. No one contests that noble and powerful natures amongst the living mightily affect all who come within the reach of their influence. Is it too much to say that a great teacher, or rather a mass of great teachers, may still more profoundly direct and shape minds at ages when docility and impressionableness are the seedbed supplied by nature? Have an Abelard and an Arnold told little upon mankind?'

These remarks are made under the feeling that Englishmen are not sufficiently alive to the immense and the decisive importance of the special qualities of a true teacher. It would be enormously better for a boy to be trained by a real teacher with small learning than by a man of great attainments and no power to influence others. No doubt, in the case of the young as well as of the old, a human being can do the most for himself; but the presence of a spirit capable of stimulating and guiding makes an incredible difference in the work which a boy or a man will do for himself. It is much to be regretted that the Commission on the Public Schools did not take up this great matter and enlighten the country on the cardinal importance of demanding good teachers. hundred faults might be forgiven to Eton or any other public school,—

A

to Oxford or to Cambridge,-if only the fundamental truth were recognized that the primary element of education is the teacher, and if as a consequence of that recognition a great teacher were demanded and appreciated by the public with the same earnestness and discernment as a great barrister or a great physician.

BONAMY PRICE, in Contemporary Review.

CHARLES LAMB.

THE following new and characteristic anecdotes of Charles Lamb are well worth preservation. They formed a part of the ample recollections of the late Mr. John Chambers, of Lee, Kent.

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Mr. Chambers was for many years a colleague at the East India House of Charles Lamb, of whom he had a keen appreciation and warm admiration. He himself is referred to in the Essay by Elia on "The Superannuated Man" under the letters Ch—, as dry, sarcastic, and friendly," and in these words Lamb accurately defines his character. They probably worked together in the same room, or-in India-house language "compound," a term which Lamb once explained to mean "a collection of simples." Chambers was the youngest son of the Vicar of Radway, near Edgehill, to whom Lamb alludes in his letter given at page 307, vol. ii., first edition of Talfourd's "Letters of Charles Lamb" (Moxon, 1837). He was a bachelor, simple, methodical, and punctual in his habits, genial, shrewd and generous, and of strong common sense. He lived, after his retirement from active duty in the East India Company's Civil Service, at a snug cottage on the Eltham Road, near London, "with garden, paddock and coach-house adjoining," and delighted to gather round him a small circle of intimate friends, to whom, over a glass of "Old Port," he would relate, as he did with a peculiar indescribable dry humour, his experiences of men and things, and especially his reminiscences of the East India Company and of Charles Lamb. He always spoke of Lamb as an excellent man of business, discharging the duties of his post with accuracy, diligence, and punctuality. Chambers died on the 3d September, 1862, aged 73. It is a matter of regret that of all the stories he related of Lamb these alone are now remembered, and for the first time written down by their hearer. The circumstances under which they were told, the humour of Mr. Chambers, and the running commentary with which he always accompanied any allusion to Lamb, are wanting to lend them the interest, vividness, and charm of their actual narration.

1. Lamb, at the solicitation of a City acquaintance, was induced to go to a public dinner, but stipulated that the latter was to see him safely home. When the banquet was over, Lamb reminded his friend of their

agreement.

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"That's

"But where do you live?" asked the latter. your affair," said Lamb, you undertook to see me home, and I hold you to the bargain." His friend, not liking to leave Lamb to find his way alone, had no choice but to take a hackney coach, drive to Islington, where he had a vague notion that Lamb resided, and trust to inquiry to discover his house. This he accomplished, but only after some hours had been thus spent, during which Lamb drily and persistently refused to give the slightest clue or information in aid of his companion.

2. Lamb was one of the most punctual of men although he never carried a watch. A friend observing the absence of this usual adjunct of a business man's attire, presented him with a new gold watch which he accepted and carried for one day only. A colleague asked Lamb what had become of it. Pawned," was the reply. He had actually pawned the watch finding it a useless incumbrance.

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3. On one occasion Lamb arrived at the office at the usual hour, but omitted to sign the attendance book. About mid-day he suddenly paused in his work, and slapping his forehead as though illuminated by returning recollection, exclaimed loudly: "Lamb! Lamb! I have it ; and rushing to the attendance book interpolated his name.

4. On another occasion Lamb was observed to enter the office hastily, and in an excited manner, assumed no doubt for the occasion, and to leave by an opposite door. He appeared no more that day. He stated the next morning, in explanation, that as he was passing through Leadenhall Market on his way to the office he accidentally trod on a butcher's heel. "I apologised," said Lamb, "to the butcher, but the latter retorted: 'Yes, but your excuses won't cure my broken heel, and me,' said he, seizing his knife, 'I'll have it out of you.' Lamb fled from the butcher, and in dread of his pursuit dared not remain for the rest of the day at the India House. This story was accepted as a humorous excuse for taking a holiday without leave.

5. An unpopular head of a department came to Lamb one day and inquired, "Pray, Mr. Lamb, what are you about?" "Forty, next birthday." said Lamb. "I don't like your answer," said his chief. your question," was Lamb's reply.

"Nor I

ALGERNON BLACK, in Macmillan's Magazine.

CONTEMPORARY LIFE AND THOUGHT IN RUSSIA.

ST. PETERSBURG, January 14th, 1879.

POLITICAL AGITATION AMONG THE STUDENTS.

THE event of the day is the political agitation among the students. These disturbances have been very much exaggerated in the reports, not only abroad, but also in Russia itself. Down to the present, at any rate, there is nothing in them at which to be seriously frightened. Their worst aspect is the wrong the actors in the disturbances do themselves; instead of devoting the precious time of youth to earnest studies they are busy trying to solve problems beyond their powers. For this wild end they risk every day seeing the doors of the universities closed to them, and keing denied their career. But youths do not much trouble themselves with thoughts of the future, and the spirit of camaraderie easily draws them away to any folly. Unfortunately for Russia, this feeling does not confine itself within the limits of one school or university, but has spread till it has attained the proportion of a general solidarity among the students of the whole country. Whenever a disturbance arises in any one of the schools, be it in the south, the west, or the east of Russia, deputies are sent to other universities and a concerted action is planned.

The first impulse of the recent troubles was given at the Veterinary Institute of Kharkow, and it may be as well to go a little into the details of what is known of the occurrence.

The official report of the case is somewhat puzzling. It states that one of the professors, by name Jouravsky, in order to further the progress of his pupils, instituted evening lessons for those who wished them. The diligent students welcomed the innovation, but the lazy ones felt dissatisfied at it. The professor received several anonymous letters, containing threats which were to be carried out in case he did not immediately give up these lessons; which were avowed to be mortifying to grown-up students, since they put them on the same level with pupils of secondary schools. He showed the letters to the students favourable to his method, and they begged him to go on, not paying any attention to them. Then the opposition had recourse to violent measures. Assembling in great numbers at the next public lesson of Jouravsky, they interrupted him, making a dreadful noise. At last they drove him out of the room. authorities naturally interfered and arrested the culprits, who were brought before the University Court.

The

When things had gone as far as this the students of the University sided with their fellows-the Veterinaries. Further, an unfortunate circumstance occurred serving to fan the flame,-the offended professor was admitted among the judges to whom the case was submitted. This