of the inductive philosophy-applicable, and To those who still fondly look back upon which ought to be applied (though it never yet the University examinations of the last has fairly been so) to all the complex circum- century as the model and standard of what stances of human life; to politics, to morals, and an academical diploma should imply, we legislation; to the guidance of individual conduct, and that of nations. I cannot too strongly would suggest the following considerarecommend this to the consideration of those tions: The studies of the last century, as who are now to decide on the normal course of far as they were a divergence from an older instruction to be adopted in your College. Let scheme-a scheme probably well adapted to them have the glory-for glory it will really be- its own times-were a divergence due rather to have given a new impulse to public instructo indolence and indifference than to any tion, by placing the Novum Organum for the first well-constituted design. Producing, as they time in the hands of young men educating for active life, as a text book, and a regular part of undoubtedly did, many men of high attaintheir College course. It is strong meat, I admit, ments, and some of varied learning, they but it is manly nutriment; and though imper- forced upon the majority an involuntary and fectly comprehended, (as it must be at that age reckless idleness. Cambridge, in its characwhen the College course terminates,) the glimps-ter of a University, encouraged no study es caught of its meaning, under a due course of collateral explanation, will fructify in after life; and, like the royal food with which the young bee is fed, will dilate the frame and transform the whole habit and economy. Of course, it should be made the highest book for the most advanced classes." We have spoken of the University reform now in progress, as an innovation. But we beg to remind our conservative academicians that it is more strictly a return to an old, than the introduction of a new principle. At least, it is but a performance of the old promise of the Universities. The first two lines of the Cambridge Calendar inform us that "The University of Cambridge is a society of students in all and every of the liberal arts and sciences." Even if we accept the contracted definition which, in the fourteenth century, was given to "arts," we must also bear in mind that arts were even then held to be auxiliary and preparatory to the other faculties. To this day the original faculties exist distinct from that of arts. A corps of twenty-five professors is now in force to represent, besides Greek, Hebrew, and Mathematics, the archaic elements of academical teaching, law, physic, and theology; together with those adoptions of a later age and new necessities, history, geology, mineralogy, and political economy. As it is at present constituted, the scope and pretension of the University really is to instruct in all liberal arts and sciences." All that was required to perfect this design, was development and academic enforcement. The material and outline already existed; to mould them to use, and shape, and beauty, demanded only arrangement, cohesion, and completion. Given professors, schools, lectures, there remained to be added examinations, prizes, and academical emoluments. but mathematics, and did this expressly A The education of the upper classes is strikingly improved within the last twenty years miraculously within the last half century. This has been partly brought about by the action of the old Universities themselves; partly, and more than is generally acknowledged, by some of the public schools; partly also by rival and ambitious institutions, like the London and Durham Universities; partly, and perhaps chiefly, by the impossibility of standing any longer still, in the midst of an advancing world. The basis of instruction was already laid with sufficient breadth and solidity. The evil is, that it is, or rather was, nothing but basis. Men were treated as if they were schoolboys, and so treated long after the age of boyhood had gone by. The objects and subjects of a life into which they were necessarily about to enter, were kept studiously from their ken and contemplation. Destined to jostle and contend in a society which perpetually throws up rough antagonists with more or less of intellect and information, and with every degree of presumption, assurance, and ambition, the University man, braced though he might be by the "iron discipline of an inflexible geometry," or imbued with the most exquisite appreciation of Greek or Roman philosophy, found himself, at the age of twentytwo or twenty-three, so completely at sea in all matters of progressive interest-so unlettered in all the antecedent history of any great social question-that he shrank in despair from a contest in which the vigor of his mind, had it been also enriched with practical and useful knowledge, must have insured him a victory over the petulance of conceit and the flippancy of agitation. Henceforward, let us hope the Cambridge, and soon we trust also the Oxford, graduate will be in some measure qualified by his college career to enter on the functions of his "faculty;" to contend successfully with ignorance and presumption; to disabuse prejudice, to refute error, and to illuminate the darkest dens of bigotry with a torch lighted at the altars of science and humanity. Henceforward, let us hope, England will owe to her splendid and time-honored institutions, a long race, not only of scholars, divines, and mathematicians, but also of chemists and geologists, jurists and political economists. In conclusion, we beg to express our gratitude that no honor in mathematics or classics has been made a condition precedent to competition for the honors in the new Cambridge triposes.* Any qualification of Formerly the requisites for a Junior Optime (the mathematical degree necessary to qualify a candidate for the Classical Tripos) were indefinite and fortuitous. They are now defined; but embracing, as they do, Dynamics and portions of the Differential and Integral Calculus, they may be considered too high a standard for the minimum of that kind would have defeated what we consider the great advantage of this part of the design. And now that the "pol" examination has been so much enlarged in compass and improved in quality, we would ask of the University of Cambridge why it should insist on enforcing such a condition as a Junior Optime's degree for classical honors? What can ever be the good of making a score of men, who have no aptitude for mathematical studies, cram a medley of propositions from Newton, Conic Sections, and, stranger still, Differential Calculus? It is no disciplining of the mind, but sheer, undiluted, unconcealed cram. There is no disguising the fact; for, it is a matter of notoriety and shame. Surely, the knowledge of Euclid, plane trigonometry, and elementary mechanics, now exacted from the "pol," ought to be considered a sufficiently rigorous "mental preparation" for the lighter amusements of translating Thucydides and Aristotle. It now remains with the University of Cambridge to carry out in honesty and good faith, the principle of instructional reform. That those who have given the impulse in either University, will do their best to direct and perpetuate it, we do not doubt; and to them, admonition at our hands would be impertinent and vain. We would, however, deferentially submit to their consideration, in the first place, the impropriety of harassing the neophytes of the new triposes with manifold and vexatious University examinations. Whatever preparatory examinations are thought necessary, in order to secure a certain progress, had best be left, we think, with each college over its own members, and with each professor in his own department. In the second place, the University must remember that the success of the new system will mainly depend on their encouraging, by prizes and fellowships, the students who distinguish themselves under it. It would be a very great advantage, were government to invite them to recommend to its notice, as is done in Prussia and France, those whose accomplishments and talents seem to qualify them eminently for a civil career, or for the tranquil cultivation of science. Lastly, we would beg them to consider a suggestion which emanated from the learned mathematical honors. Indeed, it is difficult to understand why men who have toiled to make themselves good scholars, should be obliged to swallow five or six mathematical subjects, which, fifty years ago, would have been sufficient to secure a wran gler's degree. THOUGHT AND EXPRESSION. Dean of Ely, viz: that the period of residence previous to an ordinary degree should be curtailed to two years; and that classical and other honors should be contended for at the end of the three years, as now. arrangement would drop the curtain on that This ridiculous farce yclept, "The Little Go." We close our remarks with a cordial offer of our thanks to both Universities-to Oxford for the attempt, to Cambridge for the performance. It is especially to its honor that it did not shrink from the task, or, as has been unwisely thought, the peril of setting the example of an internal reform. Cambridge has done much, before now, to deserve the thanks of England. In the worst ages of bigotry, persecution, and servility in the ages of the fagot, the Star Chamber, and the boot-in the reign of Henry and in the reign of James-she supplied learned and valiant men to plead the cause of freedom in the senate and the forum, or seal it on the scaffold. Her most eminent sons have been the luminaries of the world. The world [Aug. has seen but one Bacon, one Newton, and one Milton; and Cambridge has the honor identified with the holiest and grandest troof their rearing. Her name, accordingly, is and human knowledge. That she has not at phies won in the cause of human freedom things consistent with herslf, will be readily all times been equal to herself, nor in all forgiven by all who do not resent temporary shortcomings, and are not ungrateful for imperishable services. undone might be palliated by what she has What she has left done well. has shown her greatness most especially, in And in this her latest act she doffing the majesty of a consecrated fame, and the brightness of immemorial traditions, to accoutre herself for the instruction of an age, which has yet to learn that utility is consistent with beauty, action with reflection, and the energy of an industrial epoch with the treasured eloquence of the academy, and the remembered melodies of the Ilyssus! May she prosper as she deserves, and as all her best friends wish! WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. WITH A PORTRAIT. BY GEORGE GILFILLAN. "He was," says some one of Rousseau,, "a lonely man-his life a long soliloquy." And the same words may be applied to the "sole king of Rocky Cumberland," the lord of Rydal Mount, the sultan of Skiddaw, the warlock of Windermere, William Wordsworth. He has indeed, mingled much with men, but reluctantly; and even while amidst them, his spirit has preserved its severe seclusion. He has strode frequently into society, but with an impatient and hasty step. It is this lofty insulation which marks out Wordsworth from the eminent of his era. While they have been tremulously alive to every breath of public praise or blame, and never so much so as when pretending to despise the one and defy the other; he has maintained the tenor of his way, indifferent to both. While his name was the signal for every species of insult-while one Review was an incessant battery against his poetical character, and another, powerful on all other topics, returned it only a feeble reply on this -while stupidity itself had learned to laugh and sneer at him-while the very children of the nursery were taught to consider his rhymes as too puerile even for them, he remained unmoved; and leaving poor Coleridge to burst into tears, the majestic brow of Wordsworth only acknowledged by a transient frown the existence of his assailants. And now that his name is a household word, and that his works have found their way to the heart of the nation, we believe that he has never once been betrayed into an expression of undue complacency-that he feels himself precisely the man he was before that he moves in his elevated sphere as "native and endued" unto its element; and that the acclamations as well as the abuse of the public have failed to draw him forth from the sublime solitudes of his own spirit. And we do think that this manly self-appreciation is one of the principal marks of true greatness. We find it in Dante, daring, in his gloomy banishment, to make himself immortal, by writing the "Inferno." find it in Milton, "in darkness, and with dangers compassed round," rolling out nevertheless the deep bass notes of his great poem as from some mighty organ, seated in his own breast. We find it in Burns, confessing that, at the plough, he had formed the very idea of his poems to which the public afterwards set its seal. We find it not in Byron, who, while professing scorn for the finest contemporary specimens of his species, nay, for his species in the abstract, was yet notoriously at the mercy of the meanest creature that could handle a quill, to spurt venom against the crest of the noble Childe. But we do find it in Wordsworth, and still more in Scott, the one sustaining a load of detraction, and the other a burden of popularity, with a calm, smiling, and imperturbable dignity. The author of the "Excursion" has indeed been called an egotist; but while there is one species of egotism which stamps the weak victim of a despicable vanity, there is another which adheres to a very exalted order of minds, and is the needful defense of those who have stout burdens to bear, and severe sufferings to undergo. The Apostle Paul, in this grand sense, was an egotist when he said, "I have fought a good fight, I have kept the faith." Dante was an egotist. Luther was an egotist. Milton was an egotist; and in this sense Wordsworth is an egotist too. But what, it may be asked, is his burden and his mission? It is seen now not to have been the composition of pedler poems-the sacrifice of great powers to petty purposesthe indulgence of a weak, though amiable eccentricity; or the mere love of being singular at the expense of good taste and common sense. But many still, we fear, are not aware of its real nature and importance. Wordsworth's mission has been a lofty one, and loftily fulfilled-to raise the mean, to dignify has not the swell of the thunder, nor the dash of the cataract-it is the echo of the "shut of eve" "When sleep sits dewy on the laborer's eye." His versification has not the "sweet and glorious redundancy" of Spenser, nor the lofty rhythm of Milton, nor the uncertain melody of Shakspeare, nor the rich swelling spiritual note of Shelley, nor the wild, airy, and fitful music of Coleridge, nor the pointed strength of Byron-it is a music sweet and simple as the running brook, yet profound in its simplicity as the unsearchable ocean. His purpose is to extract what is new, beautiful, and sublime, from his own heart; reflecting its feelings upon the simplest objects of nature, and the most primary emotions of the human soul. And here lies the lock of his strength. It is comparatively easy for any gifted spirit to gather off the poetry creaming upon lofty subjects-to extract the imagination which such topics as heaven, hell, dream-land, faery-land, Grecian or Swiss scenery, almost involve in their very sounds; but to educe interest out of the every-day incidents of simple life-to make every mood of one's mind a poem-to find an epic in a nest, and a tragedy in a tattered cloak-thus to "hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear"-to find "sermons in stones," and poetry in every thing-to have "thoughts too deep for tears" blown into the soul by the wayside flower-this is one of the rarest and most enviable of powers. And hence Wordsworth's song is not a complicated harmony, but a "quiet tune"-his instrument not a lyre, but a rustic reed-his poetic potation not Hippocrene, but simple water from the stream-his demon no Alecto or Tisiphone, but a sting-armed insect of the air— his emblem on earth not the gaudy tulip nor the luscious rose, but the bean-flower with its modest, yet arrowy odor-his emblem in the sky not the glaring sun, nor the gay star of morning, nor the "sun of the sleepless, melancholy star," nor the "star of Jove, so beautiful and large❞—it is the mild and lonely moon shining down through groves of yew upon pastoral graves. the obscure, to reveal that natural nobility which lurks under the russet gown and the clouted shoe; to extract poetry from the cottage, and from the turf-fire upon its hearth, and from the solitary shieling, and from the mountain tarn, and from the gray ancestral stone at the door of the deserted mansion, and from the lichens of the rock, and from the furze of the melancholy moor. It is to hang a weight of interest"-of brooding, and passionate, and poetical feeling upon the hardest, the remotest, and the simplest objects of nature-it is to unite gorgeousness of imagination with prosaic literality of fact-it is to interweave the deductions of a subtle philosophy with the "short and simple annals of the poor." And how to the waste and meaningless parts of creation has he, above all men, given a voice, an intelligence, and a beauty! The sweet and solitary laugh of a joyous female, echoing among the hills, is to his ear more delightful than the music of many forests. A wooden bowl is dipped into the well, and comes out heavy, not merely with water, but with the weight of his thoughts. A spade striking into the spring ground moves in the might of his spirit. A village drum, touched by the strong finger of his genius, produces a voice which is poetry. The tattered cloak of a poor girl is an Elijah's mantle to him. A thorn on the summit of a hill, "known to every star and every wind that blows," bending and whispering over a maniac, becomes a banner-staff to his imagination. A silent tarn collects within and around it the sad or terrible histories of a sea; and a fern-stalk floating on its surface has the interest of a forest of masts. A leech gatherer is surrounded with the sublimity of "cloud, gorse, and whirlwind, on the gorgeous moor. A ram stooping to see his "wreathed horns superb," in a lake among the mountains, is to his sight as sublime as were an angel glancing at his features in the sea of glass which is mingled with fire. A fish leaps up in one of his tarns like an immortal thing. If he skates, it is "across the image of a star." Icicles to him are things of imagination. A snowball is a Mont Blanc; a little cottage girl a Venus de Medicis, and more; a water-mill, turned by a heart-broken child, The mind of Wordsworth is a combination a very Niagara of woe; the poor beetle that of the intellectual, the imaginative, and the we tread upon is "a mailed angel on a bat-personal. His intellect, though large and tle day;" and a day-dream among the hills, of more importance than the dates and epochs of an empire. Wordsworth's pen is not a fork of the lightning-it is a stubblestalk from the harvest field. His language powerful, does not preside over the other faculties with such marked superiority as in the case of Milton, the most intellectual of all poets; but it maintains its ground, and, unlike the reasoning faculty of many men of |