The Educational Writings of Richard Mulcaster

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Some apology is needed for the presentation of an Elizabethan writer to English readers in any form but that of the original text. The justification of the present volume must lie in the fact that in the three centuries and more that have elapsed since the educational writings of Richard Mulcaster were given to the world, they have entirely failed to gain acceptance as literature. This neglect of one of our most interesting and important educationists is no doubt chiefly to be regarded as part of the general indifference which until recently the British public has consistently shown to all discussion of educational problems, but when we consider the reputation of Mulcaster’s contemporary, Roger Ascham, who had far less to say, but knew how to say it with lucidity and grace, we are constrained to admit that Mulcaster has lost his opportunity of catching the world’s ear, and that if his writings are to be known and appreciated as they deserve by this generation, it must be rather for their substance than for their literary style. It is true that the serious student may now be trusted to investigate for himself the thoughts of earlier authors in spite of difficulties of form and expression, but the general reader will expect more help than, in the case of Mulcaster at least, is at present available. The earlier of his two chief works, the Positions, published in 1581, was out of print for 300 years, until the issue in 1888 of an almost facsimile edition by the late Mr. Quick, to whom the credit of discovering this author is mainly due, while the second work, the Elementarie, has never been reprinted at all. It is safe to assume that not many readers will care to possess themselves of the somewhat expensive reprint of the former work, or to institute a search for one of the rare copies of the original and only edition of the latter. And if these books were to be made more accessible, it seemed worth while at the same time to present them in such a form that they should be readily intelligible to the ordinary reader. In the case of an acknowledged literary classic it may be inadmissible to tamper even with the type and spelling, far more with the phraseology and arrangement of sentences, but such scruples would be out of place with the author now in question. An attempt has been made to remove all gratuitous hindrances to a full understanding of the author’s meaning, while omitting nothing that is at once characteristic and significant. It is hoped that in the process of adaptation as little as possible has been lost of the quaint flavour of the original, and of the gifts of expression that Mulcaster undoubtedly possessed, however much these were obscured by the euphuistic tendency and the somewhat laboured construction that marked the prose of his time.

J. O.

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Richard Mulcaster came of a border family that could trace its descent back to the eleventh century. On his wife’s tomb he describes himself as “by ancient parentage and lineal descent, an esquire born,” and there is evidence that some of his ancestors held positions of importance, both administrative and academic. In the fourteenth century we hear of a Richard de Molcastre, who, as the second son, inherited from his father, Sir William, the estates of Brakenhill and Solport, and the family retained its consideration up to our own time. But in the reign of Elizabeth the ancestral lands were no longer in the possession of the branch to which our author belonged. He was probably born in the border district, and the date of his birth must have been about 1532. He was sent to Eton, then under Nicholas Udall, who as a headmaster was known alike for his learning and his severity, and who as the writer of the first regular English comedy, may have given Mulcaster his taste for the drama. In 1548 he went to Cambridge as a King’s Scholar, but in 1555 we hear of his election as a Student of Christchurch, Oxford. In the following year he was “licensed to proceed in Arts.” He had a reputation for a knowledge of Hebrew as well as of Latin and Greek, and seems shortly afterwards to have chosen the profession of a schoolmaster, making his way to London about 1558 or 1559.

In 1560 the Guild of Merchant Taylors decided to establish the well-known day Grammar School for boys which still bears their name, and in the following year Mulcaster was appointed the first headmaster, having charge of two hundred and fifty scholars, with the assistance of three undermasters. The school hours were from 7 to 11 a.m. and from 1 to 5 p.m., with one half holiday in the week, besides the ordinary church festival days, and for this the headmaster received the salary of £10 (equivalent to £80 or £100 now), besides a dwelling in the school and a small sum from entrance fees. He was granted twenty days’ leave of absence in the year, but was not allowed to hold any other office, though his appointment was only held from year to year.

The reputation Mulcaster had already gained as a teacher before his appointment is shown in the fact that the post was offered to him without his application, and that he accepted it only after some hesitation, when he was promised an additional £10 of salary, on the private and personal guarantee of one of the Governors. He held the position for twenty-five years, and his successful conduct of the school is fully attested by the verdict of eminent scholars who acted as examiners, by the expressions of satisfaction in the minutes of the Council, and by the testimony of the pupils themselves, many of whom attained distinction in after-life.

Of Mulcaster’s scholars at Merchant Taylors’ School the most famous was Edmund Spenser, but in the absence of any reference to his teacher by the poet, we have to be content with the direct evidence of Lancelot Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, and Sir James Whitelock, Justice of the King’s Bench. Of the former it is recorded that he “ever loved and honoured” his former headmaster, befriending him and his son after him, and keeping his portrait over the door of his study. The latter tells us that Mulcaster besides instructing him well in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, was careful to increase his skill in music, and chose him to act with other scholars in the plays he presented at Court, by which means the boys were taught good manners and self-confidence. The account of him in Fuller’s Worthies may perhaps represent the impressions of less gifted scholars—“Atropos might be persuaded to pity, as soon as he to pardon, where he found just fault. The prayers of cockering mothers prevailed with him as much as the requests of indulgent fathers, rather increasing than mitigating his severity on their offending child.... Others have taught as much learning with fewer lashes, yet his sharpness was the better endured, because impartial, and many excellent scholars were bred under him.”

But while Mulcaster was building up securely the reputation of the school, his own position was not always comfortable, and in the end the friction between himself and the governing body became so great that he felt constrained to resign the headmastership. This was no doubt partly due to his own somewhat hasty and masterful temper, for on one occasion at least it is recorded in the minutes of the Council that he had made open apology for things said and done in anger, but there were more lasting causes of dispute. After the first eight years the promised supplement to his official income was no longer forthcoming, apparently owing to the declining circumstances of the member of the Council who had contributed it, and Mulcaster having on the strength of this extra sum increased the salary of his first assistant, conceived that he was entitled to its continuance from the Company. There were besides disputes between the Council and the authorities of St. John’s College, Oxford, where its founder, a member of the Guild, had reserved certain free places for orphans coming from the school, and in these Mulcaster was involved. While the Council seems to have acted throughout within its rights, and in the end showed a desire to deal even generously with its headmaster, it is easy to understand the difficulties of the situation, especially to a man like Mulcaster, whose natural impatience of control would not be diminished by his evident sense that in birth as well as in learning he was above his official superiors. So necessary did he feel it to regain his freedom that in 1586 he tendered his resignation, without apparently having any definite prospect of other work.

During the next ten years scarcely anything is known of Mulcaster’s life, except that he was in straitened circumstances. By 1588 his claim on the Merchant Taylors’ Guild had been adjusted by a compromise, and friendly relations must have been restored, for we find him acting as examiner to the School in that year. For part of this time at least he was out of London, for he seems to have been for a year vicar of Cranbrook in Kent, and he was afterwards granted by the Queen the prebend of Yatesbury, in the diocese of Salisbury.

In 1596 came a return of prosperity in a settled position. The headmaster of St. Paul’s School, which had been founded at the beginning of the century by John Colet, and bequeathed by him to the management of the Silk Mercers’ Guild, had resigned his post, as a result of similar differences with the governing body to those which occurred in the Merchant Taylors’ School, and Mulcaster, whatever misgivings he may have had, had learned enough from his recent experience not to decline the vacant office when it was offered to him. He was already in his sixty-fourth year when he received the appointment, and he continued to hold it till he was seventy-six. The conditions were much the same as those under which he had formerly worked, the statutes of St. Paul’s School having indeed served as a model to the later foundation, but the number of scholars was limited to 153, and the salary of the headmaster was £36 (equal to about £300 now), in addition to a residence in the school. In 1602 the salaries of all the teachers were doubled, in recompense for certain restrictions imposed by a new set of regulations, and when Mulcaster resigned his position in 1608, presumably on account of failing strength, he received a yearly pension of £66 3s. 4d. until his death three years later. There is little to record of his labours during his twelve years’ service at St. Paul’s School, the only outstanding event being in connection with the accession of James I. in 1603. It was the privilege of his scholars to welcome the Sovereign to the capital, and we read that on this occasion a Latin speech, prepared by the headmaster, was delivered by one of the scholars at the door of the School.

It is painful to learn that the closing years of Mulcaster’s life were clouded by distressing poverty. Nor is this easy to understand, for besides his pension, he was not without resources. He had some time before been granted by Queen Elizabeth the living of Stanford Rivers in Essex, but had been precluded from entering on it while he remained at St. Paul’s School. On his retirement from the headmastership he took up the duties of his country charge, notwithstanding his advanced age, though without striking success, according to Fuller’s account: “I have heard from those who have heard him preach that his sermons were not excellent, which to me seems no wonder, partly because there is a different discipline in teaching children and men, partly because such who make divinity not the choice of their youth but the refuge of their age seldom attain to eminency therein.” In spite of these two sources of income we find Mulcaster in 1609 making a pitiful but unsuccessful appeal to his old patrons, the Merchant Taylors, and when he died two years later he left his son burdened with debts, from which he was only relieved by the aid of some of his father’s former scholars, and of the two Guilds under which he had served. His wife had died two years before him, after fifty years of wedded life, and her virtues are recorded in a commemorative tablet.

Mulcaster’s educational writings were produced towards the close of the period spent at Merchant Taylors’ School, the Positions appearing in 1581, and the First Part of the Elementarie in 1582. The completion of the latter, and the further works promised on higher education, were never accomplished. He also wrote numerous Latin verses, including an address to Queen Elizabeth at the Kenilworth pageant of 1575, and a catechism, also in Latin, for the use of his pupils at St. Paul’s School, while he is mentioned as the author of a work entitled Cato Christianus, which has not come down to us.

All the sources of information regarding Mulcaster’s life and writings have been collected and compared with exhaustive industry by Dr. Theodor Klähr in a pamphlet entitled Leben und Werke Richard Mulcaster’s (Dresden, 1893).

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Whosoever shall consider carefully the manner of bringing up children which is in general favour within this realm, cannot but agree with me in wishing that it were improved. I do not think it well, however, in this place to lay bare its special defects, because I am in hope of seeing them healed without so strong a measure. If I should seek to expose all the inconveniences which are experienced between parents and schoolmasters, and between teachers and learners; if I should refer to all the difficulties through which the education and upbringing of children is seriously impaired, I might revive causes of annoyance, and thereby make the evils worse. And even though I were to remedy them, the patient might bear in mind how churlishly he was cured, and though he should pay well for the healing, he might be ill-satisfied with the treatment. Wherefore in mending things that are amiss, I take that to be the most advisable way which saveth the man without making the means unpleasant. If without entering into controversies I set down what seems to me on reasonable grounds to be the right course as being not only the best, but most within compass, the wrong course will forthwith show itself by comparison, and will thus receive a check without any need for fault-finding.

I have taught in public now without interruption for two-and-twenty years, and have always had a very great charge committed to my hands, my fulfilment of which I leave to an impartial judgment. During this time, both through what I have seen in teaching so long, and what I have tried in training up so many, I well perceive that, with the disadvantages which myself and other teachers have been subject to, none of us have been able to do as much as we might. I believe I have not only learned what these disadvantages are, but have discerned how they may be removed, so that I and all others may be able to do much more good than heretofore. And as I write for the common good I appeal to the reader’s courtesy to give me credit for good intentions, though my hopes should not be realised. For I am only doing what is open to all, namely, to give public utterance to my personal convictions, and to claim indulgence for what is intended for the general good. As I am myself ready to give favourable consideration to others who do the same, I expect any who make use of my work to their own profit to give me credit for it, and those who get no benefit from it at least to sympathise with me in meeting so little success for my good intentions. I may be told—You are alone in raising this matter; you do but trouble yourself; you cannot turn aside the course, which is old and well-established, and therefore very strong for you to strive against. This thing which you recommend is not every man’s wares; it will not be compassed. Do you let it alone; if you must needs write, turn your pen to other matters which the State will like better, which this age will readily approve of, which you may urge with credit if they be new and suitable, or confirm with praise if they be old and need repeating.

If such objections were not invariably raised to all attempts to turn either from bad to good, or from good to better, I would answer them carefully, but now I need not, for in order to gain any advantage he who wishes to have it must be prepared to wrestle for it, both in speech and in writing, against the corruption of his age, against the loneliness of attempt, against party prejudice, against the difficulties of performance. Nor must he be discouraged by any ordinary thwarting, which is a thing well known to experienced students, and of least account where it is best known, however fearful a thing it may seem to timid fancies to stem corruption and strive against the stream. For the stream will turn when a stronger tide returns, and even if there be no tide, yet an untiring effort will make way against it till it prevails. And surely it were more honourable for some one, or some few, to hazard their own credit and estimation for the time in favour of a thing which they know to be deserving of support, though it may not be held of much account, than through too timorous a concession to public opinion, which, in spite of its influence, is not always the soundest, to leave excellent causes without defence if they be opposed. For may it not fall out that such a thing as this will be called for hereafter, though at present it may be out of favour, because something else is in fashion? I had rather, therefore, that it were ready then to be of use when it is wished, than that posterity should be defrauded of a thing so passing good, for fear of its being disliked at the first setting forth.

I write in my natural English tongue, because though I appeal to the learned, who understand Latin, I wish to reach also the unlearned, who understand only English, and whose interests are to be the more considered that they have fewer chances of information. The parents and friends with whom I have to deal are for the most part no Latinists, and even if they were, yet we understand that tongue best to which we are first born, and our first impression is always in English before we render it into Latin. And in recommending a new method of attaining an admitted benefit, should we not make use of all the helps we can to make ourselves understood? He that understands no Latin can understand English, and he that understands Latin very well can understand English far better, if he will confess the truth, however proud he may be of his Latinity. When my subject requires Latin I will not then spare it, as far as my knowledge allows, but till it do, I will serve my country in the way that I think will be most intelligible to her.

My purpose is to help the whole business of teaching, even from the very first foundation, that is to say, not only what is given in the Grammar School, and what follows afterwards, but also the elementary training which is given to infants from their first entrance, until they are thought fit to pass on to the Grammar School. In my manner of proceeding I propose to follow the precedent of those learned authors who have treated with most credit of this and similar subjects, in first laying down certain principles to which all readers will agree. By this means it is possible to pass on to the end without challenge, or if any difficulty should arise, it can always be resolved by a reference to these principles. In mathematics, which offers the best model of method to all the other sciences, before any problem or theorem is presented, there are set down certain definitions, postulates, axioms, to which general assent is asked at the outset, and on which the whole structure is built up. I am the more inclined to adopt this method, because I am to deal with a subject that must at the first be very carefully handled, till proof gives my treatment credit, whatever countenance hope may seem to lend it in the meanwhile.

I mean specially to deal with two stages in learning, first the Elementary, which extends from the time that the child is set to do anything, till he is removed to the higher school, and then the Grammar School course, where the child doth continue in the study of the learned tongues till at the time of due ripeness he is removed to some university. The importance of the Elementary part lieth in this, that a thorough grounding here helps the whole course of after study, whereas insufficient preparation in the early stages makes a very weak sequel. For just as a proper amount of time spent here, without too much haste to push onwards, brings on the rest of the school stages at their due season, and in the end sendeth abroad sufficient men for the service of their country, so too headlong a desire to hurry on swiftly, in perpetual infirmity of matter, causeth too much childishness in later years, when judgment and skill and ripeness are more in keeping with grey hairs. The Grammar School course, while it is a suitable subject for me to deal with, as I am myself a teacher, is also very profitable for the country to hear of, as in the present great variety of teaching, some uniform method seems to be called for. To have the youth of the country well directed in the tongues, which are the paths to wisdom, the treasuries of learning, the storehouses of humanity, the vehicles of divinity, the sources of knowledge and wisdom—can this be a small matter, if it be well performed? If fitting occasion by the way should cause me to attempt anything further than these two divisions of the subject, though I should seem to be going beyond my school experience, I trust I shall not be thought to travel beyond my capacity. In seeking for the approval of men I may indeed find some who are satisfied with things as they are, who think their penny good silver, and decline my offer, being unwilling to receive teaching from such humble hands as mine. There may be others who grant that there is something amiss, but think my remedy not well fitted to amend it, and look disdainfully on my credentials. I admit my lack of authority, but till some one better takes the matter up, why should I not do what I can? If the wares I bring prove marketable, why should I not offer them for sale? As I am likely to encounter such objections, I propose at the outset to meet all I can on grounds of reason, with full courtesy to those who make them.

Inasmuch as I must apply my principles to some one ground, I have chosen the Elementary, rather than the Grammar School course, because it is the very lowest, and the first to be dealt with, and because the considerations that apply to it may easily be transferred afterwards to the Grammar School or any other studies. The points I propose to deal with are such as the following: At what age a child should be sent to school, and what he should learn there; whether all children should be sent to school; whether physical exercise is a necessary part of upbringing; whether young maidens ought to be set to learning; how young gentlemen should be brought up; how uniformity can be introduced into teaching. I shall also speak of courtesy and correction, of public and private education, of the choice of promising scholars, of places and times for learning, of teachers and school regulations, and of the need for restricting the numbers of the learned class. In my views on these and kindred matters I shall seek to win the approval of my countrymen, before I proceed to deal with particular precepts and the details of the upbringing of children. In my discussion of all these matters, while in method I shall follow the example of the best writers, I will, in the substance of my argument, make appeal only to nature and reason, to custom and experience, where there is a clear prospect of advantage to my country, avoiding any appearance or suspicion of fanciful and impracticable notions. I may hope that the desire to see things improved will not be accounted fanciful, unless by those who think themselves in health when they are sick unto death, and while feeling no pain because of extreme weakness, hold their friends foolish in wishing them to alter their mode of life.

Some well-meaning people, when they wish to persuade their fellow-countrymen either by pen or by speech, to adopt a certain course, if they can claim the authority of any good writers favouring their opinions, straightway assume that their own arguments are sufficiently supported to ensure their proposal being carried out. This assurance, however, is checked sometimes by reflection, sometimes by experience. Wise reflection may foresee that the special circumstances of the country will not admit of the proposed change, or after some trial the unsuitability may be shown by experience. So that in cases where authorities persuade, and circumstances control, those who would use earlier writers to maintain their credit must always keep in view the application to particular conditions. I see many people of good intelligence, considerable reading, and facility of expression, both abroad and at home, fall into great error by neglecting special circumstances, and overstraining the force of authority. In dealing with education, must I entreat my country to be content with this because such a one commends it, or force her to that because such a State approves of it? The show of right deceives us, and the likeness of unlike things doth lead us where it listeth. For the better understanding with what wariness authority is to be used, let it be considered that there are two sorts of authors that we deal with in our studies. Of the one kind are writers on the mathematical sciences, who proceed by the necessity of a demonstrable subject, and enforce the conclusions by inevitable argument. Of the other kind are writers on the moral and political sciences, who, dealing with human affairs, must have regard to the circumstances of every particular case. With the former the truth of the subject-matter maintains itself, without the need for any personal authority, and is beyond debate; it is with the latter that controversy arises, the writer’s credit often authorising the thing, and in this case great injustice may be done by quoting without discrimination as to difference of circumstance. It is no proof that because Plato praiseth something, because Aristotle approveth it, because Cicero commends it, because Quintilian or anyone else is acquainted with it, therefore it is for us to use. What if our country honour it in them, and yet for all that may not use it herself, because the circumstances forbid? Nay, what if the writers’ authority be cited without considering in what circumstances the opinion was originally expressed? Is not a great wrong done by him who wresteth the meaning of the author he quotes? He that will deal with writers so as to turn their conclusions to the use of his country must be very well advised, and diligently mark that their meaning and his application are consistent, and must consider how much of their opinion his country will admit. Whether I shall myself be able to carry out what I demand from others, I dare not warrant, but I will do my best to use my author well, and to take circumstances into account, never, if I can help it, to offer anything that has not all the foundations that I promised before, namely, nature to lead it, reason to back it, custom to commend it, experience to approve it, and profit to prefer it.

I think a student ought rather to invest himself in the habit of his writer than to stand much upon his title and authority in proof or disproof, as it is well understood that all our studies are indebted to the original devisers and the most eloquent writers. Therefore, to avoid undue length, I will neither give authorities nor examples, as it is not a question of a man’s name, but of the real value of the argument. I shall not busy myself with citing authors, either to show what I have read or how far I am in agreement with others. It is not needful to heap up witnesses where nothing is doubtful; the natural use of testimony is to prove where there is doubt, not to cloy where all is clear. In such cases, for want of sound judgment, a catalogue of names and a multitude of sentences, which only say what no one denies, are forced on to the stage to seem to arm the quoter, who is fighting without a foe, and flying when there is no cause for fear.

In points of learning which are beyond controversy, I appeal to the judgment of those who have gone over the same ground, and can test the truth of what I say without being told the name of the author, whom they will admit to have been well cited when they find me saying as he saith, whether it be through recollection of what I have read or from coincidence of judgment where I have not read. I do honour good writers, but without superstition, being in no way addicted to titles. But seeing that Reason doth honour them, they must be content to remain outside themselves, and use every means to bring her forward, as their lady and mistress, whose authority and credit procure them admission when they come from her. It is not so because a writer said so, but because the truth is so, and he said the truth. Indeed, the truth is often weakened in the hearer’s opinion, though not in itself, by naming the writer. If truth did depend upon the person, she would often be brought into a miserable plight, being constrained to serve fancy and alter at will, whereas she should bend to no one, however opinionative people may persuade themselves. This is known to the learned and wise, whose courtesy I crave. As for the unlearned, I must entreat them, for their sakes if not for mine, not to debate with me on points where they cannot judge. In matters that are intelligible to both, I must pray them to weigh my words well, and ever to give me credit for good intentions.

Those ancient writers, who have depicted ideal commonwealths, and have imagined the upbringing of such paragons as should be fitted for a place in them, before asking when their youth should begin to learn, have commonly laid down the conditions of their training from a very early stage. They begin by considering how to deal with the infant while he is still under his nurse, discussing whether he should be nursed by a stranger or by his mother, what playfellows should be chosen for him while he is still in the nursery, and what exquisite public or private training can be devised for him afterwards. These and other considerations they fall into, which do well beseem the bringing up of such an one as may indeed be wished, though scarcely hoped for, but can by no means be applied to our youth and our education, wherein we wish for no more than we can hope to have. Nay, these writers go further, as mere wishers may, and appoint the parents of this so perfect a child, to be so wise and learned that they may indeed fit into an ideal scheme, but too far surpass the model that I can have in view. Wherefore leaving on one side these ideal measures and people, I mean to proceed from such principles as our parents do actually build on, and as our children do rise by to that mediocrity which furnisheth out this world, and not to that excellence which is fashioned for another. And yet there is a value in these fine pictures, which by pointing out the ideal let us behold wherein the best consisteth, what colours it is known by, what state it keepeth, and by what means we may best approach it. It may perhaps be said that despair of obtaining the very best is apt to discourage all hope, for by missing any one of these rare conditions—and our frailty will fail either in all or in most—we mar the whole mould. Howbeit we are much bound to the excellent wits of those divine writers who, by their singular knowledge approaching near to the truest and best, could most truly and best discern what constitution they were of, and being anxious to serve their race thought it their part to communicate what they had seen, if only for this, that while we might despair of hitting the highest, yet by seeing where it lodged we might with great praise draw near unto it.

But to return from this question of ideals to our ordinary education, I persuaded myself that all my countrymen wish themselves as wise and learned as these imaginary parents are surmised to be, though they may be content with so much, or rather with so little, of wisdom and learning as God doth allot them, and that they will have their children nursed as well as they can, wherever or by whomsoever it may be, so that the beings whom they love so well as bequeathed to them by nature, may be well brought up by nurture; and that till the infant can govern himself, they will seek to save it from all such perils as may seem to harm it in any kind of way, either from the people or the circumstances that surround it, and that this will be done with such forethought as ordinary circumspection can suggest to considerate and careful parents; and finally, that for his proper schooling, all who can will provide it, even if it be at some cost.

One of the first questions is at what age children should be sent to school, for they should neither be delayed too long, so that time is lost, nor hastened on too soon, at the risk of their health. The rule therefore must be given according to the strength of their bodies and the quickness of their wits jointly. If the parents be not wanting in means, and there is a convenient place near, wherein to have the child taught, and a teacher with sufficient knowledge, and with discretion to train him up well by correction and teaching him good manners, and fit companions, such as so good a master may be able to choose; and if the child also himself have a good understanding and a body able to bear the strain of learning, methinks it were then best that he began to be doing something as soon as he can use his intelligence, without overtaxing his powers either of mind or body, as the wise handling of his teacher will direct. What the age should be I cannot say, for ripeness in children does not always come at the same time, any more than all corn is ripe for one reaping, though it is pretty nearly at the same time. Some are quick, some are slow; some are willing when their parents are, and others only when they are inclined themselves, according as a wise upbringing has disposed them to do well, or foolish coddling has made them prefer their play.

Anyone who deserves to be a parent should be prepared to judge for himself as to his young son’s ripeness for school life, and surely no one is so destitute of friends that he has not some one to consult if necessary. Those who fix upon a definite age for beginning have an eye to that knowledge which they think may be easily gained in these early years, and which it would be a pity to lose. I agree with them that it would be a pity to lose anything needlessly that could be gained without much effort and without injuring the child. But it would be a greater pity for so small a gain to risk a more important one, to win an hour in the morning, and lose the whole day after. If the child has a weak body, however bright his understanding may be, let him grow on the longer till his strength equals his intelligence. For experience has taught me that a young child with a quick mind pushed on for people to wonder at the sharpness of its edge has thus most commonly been hastened to its grave, through weakness of body, to the grief of the child’s friends and the reproach of their judgment; and even if such a child lives, he will never go deep, but will always float on the surface without much ballast, though perhaps continuing for a time to excite wonder. Sooner or later, however, his intelligence will fail, the wonder will cease, while his body will prove feeble and perish. Wherefore I could wish the brighter child to be less upon the spur, and either the longer kept from learning altogether, lest he suffer as the edge of an oversharp knife is turned, or at least be given very little, for fear of his eagerness leading to a surfeit.

As in setting a child to school we consider the strength of his body no less than the quickness of his mind, it would seem that our training ought to be two-fold, both body and mind being kept at their best, so that each may be able to support the other in what they have to do together. A great deal has been written about the training of the mind, but for the bettering of the body is there no means to maintain it in health, and chiefly in the student, whose occupation treads it down? Yea, surely, a very natural and healthful means in exercise, whereby the body is made fit for all its best functions. And therefore parents and teachers ought to take care from the very beginning that in regard to diet the child’s body is not stuffed so that the intelligence is dulled, and that its garments neither burden the body with their weight nor weaken it with too much warmth. The exercise of the body should always accompany and assist the exercise of the mind, to make a dry, strong, hard, and therefore a long-lasting, body, and by this means to have an active, sharp, wise, and well-learned soul.

It is not enough to say that children are always stirring of their own accord, and therefore need no special attention in regard to bodily exercise. If it were not that we make them keep absolutely still when they are learning in school, and thus restrain their natural stirring, then we might leave it to their own inclinations to serve their turn without more ado. But a more than ordinary stillness requires more than ordinary exercise, and the one must be regulated as much as the other. And as sitting quiet helps ill-humours to breed and burden the body, relief must be sought in exercise under the direction of parents and teachers.

The soul and the body, being co-partners in good and ill, in sweet and sour, in mirth and mourning, and having generally a common sympathy and mutual feeling, how can they be, or rather why should they be, severed in education? I assign both the framing of the mind and the training of the body to one man’s charge. For how can that man judge well of the soul, whose work has to do with the body alone? And how shall he perceive what is best for the body, who having the soul only committed to his care, hands over the body to some other man’s treatment? Where there is too much distraction and separation of functions, each specialist tends to make the most of his own subject, to the sacrifice of others that may be more important. Wherefore in order to have the care which is due to each part equally distributed, I would appoint, I say, only one teacher to deal with both. For I see no great difficulty either in regard to the necessary knowledge, or to the amount of work. Moreover, as the disposition of the soul will resemble that of the body, if the soul be influenced for good, it will affect the body also.

For though the soul as the fountain of life, and the stimulus of the body, may and will bear it out for a while, by force of courage, yet weakness cannot always be dissembled, but will in the end betray itself, perhaps just when it is the greatest pity. Many people of high spirit, notable for their learning and skill in the highest professions, have failed, owing to want of attention to bodily health, just when their country had most hope of benefiting by their services. It is needful, therefore, to help the body by some methodical training, especially for those who use their brains, such as students, who are apt to consider too little how they may continue to do that for long which they do well. They should eat very moderately, and their exercise should also be moderate, and not vary too much, and their clothing should be thin, even from the first swaddling, that the flesh may become hard and firm.

[Mulcaster gives a list of the forms of exercise which he thinks most suitable, both for indoors, and for out of doors. In the former class are—speaking and reading aloud, singing, laughing, weeping, holding the breath, dancing, wrestling, fencing, and whipping the top; in the latter are—walking, running, leaping, swimming, riding, hunting, shooting, and playing at ball. These of course are not all considered suitable for children, but a selection could be made from them to be practised in school under the regulation of the master. He then enters upon a detailed and curious examination of the value of each of these forms of exercise, considered mainly in regard to their physiological effects. In all this it has been pointed out by Schmidt (Geschichte der Erziehung, Vol. III., Pt. I, pp. 374-6) that Mulcaster followed closely, though without special acknowledgment, the De Arte Gymnastica of Girolamo Mercuriale, a contemporary Italian physician. As the science is mostly of the traditional and somewhat fantastic character then prevalent, the discussion is not particularly profitable from a modern standpoint. It will be interesting, however, as an illustration of his treatment, to see how he deals with a game that seems to have had much the same features in his day as in ours.]

Football could not possibly have held its present prominence, nor have been so much in vogue as it is everywhere, if it had not been very beneficial to health and strength. To me the abuse of it is a sufficient argument that it has a right use, though as it is now commonly practised, with thronging of a rude multitude, with bursting of shins and breaking of legs, it is neither civilised, nor worthy the name of any healthy training. And here one can easily see the use of the training master, for if there is some one standing by, who can judge of the play, and is put in control over the players, all these objections can be easily removed. By such regulation, the players being put into smaller numbers, sorted into sides and given their special positions, so that they do not meet with their bodies so boisterously to try their strength, nor shoulder and shove one another so barbarously, football may strengthen the muscles of the whole body. By provoking superfluities downwards it relieves the head and the upper parts, it is good for the bowels, and it drives down the stone and gravel from the bladder and the kidneys. The motion also helps weak hams and slender shanks by making the flesh firmer, yet rash running and too much violence often break some internal conduit and cause ruptures.

We are next to consider who are those to whom education should be given, which I take to be children of both sorts, male and female. But young maidens must give me leave to speak of boys first, because naturally the male is more worthy and more important in the body politic; therefore that side may claim learning as first framed for their use and most properly belonging to them, though out of courtesy and kindness they may be content to lend some advantages of their education in the time of youth to the female sex on whom they afterwards bestow themselves, and the fruit of their whole training.

As for boys, it has been set beyond doubt long ago, that they should be sent to school, to learn how to be religious and loving, how to govern and obey, how to forecast and prevent, how to defend and assail, and in short, how to perform excellently by labour the duties for which nature has fitted them only imperfectly. But in the matter of this so desirable a training, two important questions arise; first, whether all children should be put to school without any restraint upon the number, and secondly, if any restriction is needful, how it is to be imposed. In the body politic a certain proportion of parts must be preserved just as in the natural body, or disturbances will arise, and I consider that it is a burden to a commonwealth on the one hand to have too many learned, just as it is a loss on the other hand to have too few, and that it is important to have knowledge and intelligence well adapted to the station in life, as, if these are misplaced it may lead to disquiet and sedition.

There is always danger to a State in excess of numbers beyond the opportunities of useful employment, and this is specially true in the case of scholars. For they profess learning, that is to say, the soul of the State, and it is too perilous to have the soul of the State troubled with their souls, that is, necessary learning with unnecessary learners. Scholars, by reason of their conceit which learning inflames, cannot rest satisfied with little, and by their kind of life they prove too disdainful of labour, unless necessity makes them trot. If that wit fall to preach which were fitter for the plough, and he to climb a pulpit who was made to scale a wall, is not a good carter ill lost, and a good soldier ill placed?

All children cannot get a full training at school, even though their private circumstances admit of it, yet as regards writing and reading, if that were all, what if everyone had them, for the sake of religion and their necessary affairs? In the long period of their whole youth, if they minded no more, these two would be easily learned in their leisure times by special opportunities, if no ordinary means were available and no school nigh. Every parish has a minister, who can give help in regard to writing and reading, if there is no one else.

Some doubt may rise between the rich and poor, whether all rich and none poor, or some in both, may and should be sent to learning. If some rich are sent, provided for out of private resources, some poor will be commended by promising parts to public provision for the general advantage, and if neither private nor public provision is mismanaged, the matter will decide itself by the capacity of the learners and their disposition to prove virtuous. The safe condition is that the rich should not have too much, nor the poor too little. In the former case, the overplus breeds a loose and dissolute brain; in the latter, the insufficiency causes a base and servile temper. For he who is never in need, owing to the supplies of his friends, never exercises his wits to be a friend to himself, but commonly proves reckless till the black ox treads upon his toes, and necessity makes him try what mettle he is made of. And he who is always in need, for want of friends, is apt to find his heaven in whatever rids him of his difficulties, and to worship that saint who serves his turn best. Now if wealthy parents out of their private fortune, and public patrons out of their surplus wealth would try to avoid these two extremes, then neither would over-abundance make the one too wanton, nor want make the other too servile. Neither would be tempted to hasten on too fast, the one lest he should lose some time, and the other lest he should miss some chance of a livelihood. The middle sort of parents, who neither welter in too much wealth, nor wrestle with too much want, seem most promising of all, if their children’s capacity is in keeping with their parents’ circumstances and position, which must be the level for the fattest to fall down to, and the leanest to leap up to, to bring forth the student who will serve his country best.

All cannot pass on to learning that throng thitherward, because of the inconveniences that may ensue, by want of preferment for such a multitude, and by depriving other trades of their necessary workers. Everyone desires to have his child learned, yet for all that every parent must bear in mind that he is more bound to his country than to his child. If the parent will not yield to reason some kind of restraint must be used. Fortunately the question is often determined by necessity. You would have your child learned, but your purse will not stretch; you must be patient, and devise some other course within your means. You are not able to spare him from your elbow for your own needs, whereas learning must have leisure, and the scholar’s book be his only business free from outside interference. You have no school near you, and you cannot pay for teaching further off; then let your own trade content you, and keep your child at home. Or your child is of weak constitution; then let schooling alone, make play his physician, and health his object. Whichever way necessity drives you, perforce that way must ye trot. If the restrained child cannot get the skill to write and read, I lament that lack, for these two points concern every man nearly, and are useful in every kind of business. I dare not venture to allow so many the Latin tongue, nor any other language, unless it be in cases where those tongues are found necessary in their trades. For otherwise the fear is lest, having such benefits of school, they will not be content with their own station in life, but because they have some little smack of book learning they will think even the highest positions low enough for them, not considering that in well-governed States Latin is allowed both to country clowns and town artificers; yet these remain in their own calling, without pride or ambition, on account of that small knowledge by which they are better able to furnish out their own trades.

It is no objection to allege against such a lawful restraint, that if such a measure had been in force we might have lost men of high intelligence and great learning who have been of much service to the State. Some degree of foresight and orderly restraint are more likely to secure that necessary functions will be well served than if all is left to chance and individual will. Nor is it reasonable to object that it were a pity, by the severity of an unkind law, to hinder that excellence which God commonly gives to the poorer sort.

As for pitying the poor, ye need not wish a beggar to become a prince, though ye allow him a penny and pity his necessities. If he is poor provide for him, that he may live by trade, but let him not idle. Has he talent? Well, are artificers fools? And do not all trades require ability? But is he very likely to distinguish himself in learning? I do not reject him; he has his chance of being provided a public help in common patronage. But he does not well to oppose his own particular will against the public good; let his country think enough of him, but let him beware of thinking too much of himself. Because God has often shown himself bountiful in conferring talent on the poorer sort, that does not prove that he has not bestowed as great gifts on some of the upper class, though they may have failed to use them. The commonwealth, it is urged, must be prepared to give scope for ability, in whatever class it may be found.

The choice of learners is a matter requiring careful thought at all times and in all places, but especially in our own day and country. For it is more important to whom you commit learning when you have found what to learn than to find what to learn before you commit it, because the best instrument should always be handled by the fittest person, and not by every one that has a fancy to handle it. When the choice follows private liking rather than public advantage, more mischief is caused than is easily discovered, though the smart is generally felt. There is indeed little use in discussing the question of fitness, if no choice is to be made when the question is decided. And as the bestowal of learning must have its beginning in the young child, ought not good choice to go before if the due effect is to follow?

I will now consider what kinds of talent and disposition are, even from infancy, to be thought most fitting to serve the State in the matter of learning. Often those who give least promise at first turn out most suitable in the end; wherefore the absolute rejection of any, before maturity is reached, not only does an injury to those who are rejected, but would be an evidence of rashness in those who reject. For the variety is very great, though where certainty is impossible preference must be given to the most likely. In the qualities that give promise of good service when learning has been gained, there are commonly reckoned an honourable disposition, zeal for moral virtue, and the desire to benefit society without thought of personal profit. There must also be taken into account the shrewdness of intelligence which will not be easily deceived nor diverted from a right opinion, either by the influence of feeling in themselves or the strength of persuasion in others. And generally whatever virtue gives proof of a good man and a good citizen must be held of value, so that the learner should show capability and discretion in matters of learning, and towardness and constancy in matters of living. All this refers to free men who can secure independently the opportunities of learning, yet provision is to be made for those of good natural intelligence who need some help. There are three kinds of government—Monarchy, Oligarchy, and Democracy, each of which demands a different type of citizen and scholar. That child is likely in later years to prove the fittest subject for learning in a Monarchy who at a tender age shows himself obedient to the rules of the School, and, if he should offend, takes his punishment gently, without complaining or taking affront. In behaviour towards his companions he is gentle and courteous, without wrangling or complaining. He will lend a helping hand, and use every persuasion rather than have either his teacher disquieted or his school-fellows punished. And, therefore, either he receives similar courtesy from his school-fellows, or whoever shows him any discourtesy must be prepared for challenge and combat with all the rest. If he has any natural capacity in which he excels his companions, it will be so well regulated and show itself with such modesty that it shall appear in no way upsetting or over-ambitious. At home he will be so deferential to his parents, so courteous among servants, so dutiful toward all with whom he has to deal, that there will be contention who can praise him most behind his back, and who can cherish him most before his face. These qualities will not be easily discerned till the child is either in the Grammar School by regular but not premature advancement, or at least upon his passage from the completed course of the Elementary School, because his age by that time, and his progress under regulation, will make it possible in some degree to perceive his inclination. Before that time we pardon many things, and use encouragement and motives of ambition to inflame the little one onward, which are discontinued afterwards. When of their own accord, without any motive of fear or other incitement, they begin to make some show of their learning in some special direction, then conjecture is on foot as to what their career ought to be.

When the possession of means bids the school door open, the admission and right of continuance is granted to all, till after some proof the master, who is the first chooser of the finest, begins to discern where there is ability to go forward, and where natural weakness suggests prompt removal. When the master has discovered strength or infirmity of nature, as may appear in the ease or difficulty of acquiring and retaining that are seen in boys of different aptitude, his desire will naturally be to have the promising scholars continued, to procure the removal of the duller ones by diverting their energy into some other course more in keeping with their natural bent than learning, in which they are likely to make little progress, however long they remain at school. Care must be taken, however, not to decide prematurely, for it may prove that those wits that at first were found to be very hard and blunt may soften and prove sharp in time, and show a finer edge, though this is not to be applied to dullards generally. For natural dulness will show itself in everything that concerns memory and understanding, while that kind of dulness that may some day change into sharpness will show itself only at intervals, like a cloudy day that will turn out fine in the end. Wherefore, injustice may be done by a hasty judgment, and, on the other hand, the boy who is not yet strong enough for manual work may remain a little longer at school, where, even if he do little good, he is sure to take little harm. Moreover, if the parents can afford it, and wish to keep their children on at school, even though their progress is small, the master must have patience, and measure his pains by the parent’s purse, where he knows there is plenty, and not by the child’s profit, which he sees will be small. Only he must keep the parent constantly informed how matters stand, both as a matter of duty and to prevent disappointment. But the case is different with a poor child, who should be sent to a trade at once, if he is not promising in learning.

Seeing that the schoolmaster, to whose judgment I commend the choice, is no absolute potentate in our commonwealth, to dispose of people’s children as he pleases, but only a counsellor to act along with the parent, if the latter is willing to take advice, I should wish, that in order to have this duly accomplished, parents and teachers should be not only acquainted, but on friendly terms with each other. And though some parents need no counsel, and some teachers can give but little, yet the wise parent is always willing to listen before he decides, and the opinion of a skilful teacher deserves to be heard. If this co-operation cannot be established, the poor child will suffer in the present, and the parents will lose much satisfaction in the end. This kind of control will continue as long as the child is either under a master in school, or under a tutor in college, and in this period a great number may be very wisely arranged for, unlearned trades being sufficiently supplied, and a life of learning reserved for those only who by their intelligence and judgment are fitted for it. By such means the proportion will be properly adjusted in every branch of the public service, and the risk avoided of having too large a total number. This period under the master’s charge is the only period when the youth can be controlled by outside direction; for afterwards at a more dangerous age they come to choose for themselves, and their defects of nature and manners, if not corrected, may bring sorrow to them and to their friends. And though the schoolmaster may not always have his counsel followed in such a case, yet if he let the parent know his opinion his duty will be discharged. For if the parent shows himself unwilling to follow the teacher’s opinion, supported by good reasons, but under the influence of blind affection overestimates his child’s aptitude for learning, then though the master should for his own gain keep on an unpromising pupil, the fault lies with the parent who would not see even after fair warning. So that it always proves true that parents and teachers should be familiarly linked together in amity and continual conference for their common charge, and that each should trust in the judgment and personal goodwill of the other. This will come to pass only when the teacher is carefully chosen and kept on terms of friendly conference—not merely because “my neighbour’s children go to school with you, so you shall have mine too,”—a common reason in the case of children who are continually being sent posting about to try all sorts of schools, and never stay long in any, thus reaping as much learning as the rolling stone gathers moss.

The other means whereby some selection may be made is by admission into colleges, preferments to degrees, advancement to livings. In regard to these the commonwealth may receive all the greater harm that they come nearer the public service, so that plain dealing is the more praiseworthy, in order to prevent mischief. As concerns colleges I do not consider that the scholarships in them are intended only for poor students, for whose needs that small help could never suffice, (though some advantage may be given to them in consideration of special promise which has no other chance of being recognised) but rather that they are simply preferments for learning and advancements for virtue, alike to the wealthy as a reward of well-doing, and to the poorer students as a necessary support. Therefore, as in admission I would give freedom to choose from both sorts, so I would restrict the choice to those who give genuine promise of usefulness. For if elections are swayed by favour, shown on grounds not of merit but of private friendship, though perhaps with some colour of regard for learning, those who are responsible for the injustice will repent when it is too late, finding themselves served in their own coin; for those who get in by such means, owing their own advancement to private influence, will act in the same way towards others, without regard to the common welfare. When favour is shown on any other ground than that of merit, founders are discouraged, public provision is misused, and learning gives place to idling. But if elections were made on grounds of fitness alone, the unfit would be diverted in time into some other channel, the best would be chosen, the intentions of founders would be fulfilled, some perjury for the non-performance of statutes would be avoided, new patrons would be procured, religion advanced, and good students encouraged.

Preferment to degrees may be, and indeed ought to be, a more powerful check on insufficiency, because by this means the whole country is made either a lamentable spoil to bold ignorance, or a favourable soil for sober knowledge. When a scholar is allowed by authority of the University to profess capacity in a certain specialty for which he bears the title, and is sent into the world by the help of people who have acted under unworthy influences in disregard of merit, what must our country think when she hears the boast of the University title sound in her ears, and fails to find the benefit of University learning to serve her in her need? She will not blame the ignorant graduate, who is only naturally trying to do the best for himself, but she will very greatly blame the Universities for having deceived her and betrayed her trust. For in granting a degree the University is virtually saying, “Before God and my country, I know this man, not by perfunctory knowledge, but by thorough examination, to be well able to perform in the Commonwealth the duties of the profession to which his degree belongs, and the country may rest upon my credit in security for his sufficiency.” What if the University knew beforehand that he neither was such an one, nor was ever likely to prove such? Let the earnest professors of true religion in the universities at this day consult their consciences and remedy the defect for their own credit and the good of their country. A teacher may be pardoned, for seeking thus earnestly to have true worth recognised, considering that thereby would come not only satisfaction to himself, but advantage to his pupils and to the country at large. Can he be anything but grieved to see the results for which he has laboured with infinite care and pains set at naught by bad management at a later stage? It seems to be reasonable for anyone who is given the charge of numbers to concern himself not only with what comes under his own immediate regulation, but with the means of securing public protection and encouragement for his pupils after they pass out of his care.

I will now consider what children ought to learn when they are first sent to school. There are in the human soul certain natural capacities which by the wisdom of parents and the discernment of teachers, who may perceive them in the child’s infancy and do their best to cultivate them, may eventually be made very profitable both to their possessor, and to the commonwealth. If these natural capacities are not perceived, those who are responsible must be charged either with ignorance or with negligence, and if they are perceived but are either not improved or wrongly directed, the teachers and trainers, whether they are parents or schoolmasters, must be much lacking in sound skill, or else they are guided by stupid fancies. Without making any complete analysis of the mental powers, I would point out some natural inclinations in the soul, which seem to crave the help of education and nurture, and by means of these may be cultivated to advantage. In the little young souls we find first a capacity to perceive what is taught to them, and to imitate those around them. That faculty of learning and following should be well employed by choosing the proper matter to be set before them, by carefully proceeding step by step in a reasonable order, by handling them warily so as to draw them on with encouragement. We find also in them a power of retention; therefore their memories should at once be furnished with the very best, seeing that it is a treasury, and never suffered to be idle, as it loses its power so soon. For in default of the better, the worse will take possession, and bid itself welcome. We find in them further an ability to discern what is good and what is evil, so that they should forthwith be acquainted with what is best, by learning to obey authority, and dissuaded from the worse by the fear of disapproval. These three things, perception, memory, and judgment, ye will find peering out of the little young souls at a time when ye can see what is in them, but they cannot yet see it themselves. Now these natural capacities being once discerned, must as they arise be followed with diligence, increased by good method, and encouraged by sympathy, till they come to their fruition.

The best way to secure good progress, so that the intelligence may conceive clearly, memory may hold fast, and judgment may choose and discern the best, is so to ply them that all may proceed voluntarily, and not with violence, so that the will may be ready to do well, and loth to do ill, and all fear of correction may be entirely absent. Surely to beat for not learning a child that is willing enough to learn, but whose intelligence is defective, is worse than madness.

The duty of leading children to cleave to the good and forsake the bad, in matters of ordinary conduct, is shared by all who come in contact with them; it belongs to the parents by nature, to schoolmasters by the charge committed to them, to neighbours as a matter of courtesy, and to people in general on the ground of a common humanity. Teachers, it is true, have special opportunities of influencing the morals and manners of children, by means of the authority they naturally exercise, in teaching them what is best, and inducing them to practise it, even by force at first, till they come to appreciate it for themselves. But this control of good manners is not for teachers alone, for as I have said, they must co-operate with the parents, to whom that duty naturally appertains most nearly, as they have the fullest authority over the children. Wherefore, reserving for the teacher only so much as strictly belongs to him, in instructing the child what is best in good manners, and in framing good regulations and seeing that they are properly carried out, I refer the rest to those who are the appointed guardians of morals, to secure either by private discipline at home, or by public control outside, that young people are well brought up to distinguish the good from the bad, the seemly from the unseemly, that they may know God, serve their country, be a comfort to their friends, and help one another, as good fellow-citizens are bound to do. But the task of training their intelligence and memory belongs wholly to the teacher, and I will now proceed to deal with it.

I might very well be thought wanting in discretion if I were to press any far-fetched proposals into this discussion of general principles, and I shall therefore deal only with methods that are in harmony with the customs of this country, and with the circumstances of the time. Among the subjects of instruction that have universally been recognised and practised, Reading certainly holds the first place, alike for the training of the mind in the process of acquiring it, and for its usefulness after it is acquired. For the printed page is the first and simplest material for impressions in the art of teaching, and nothing comes before it. When by gradual practice in combining letters and in spelling out words under direction, the child has acquired the faculty of reading easily, what a cluster of benefits thus come within reach! Whatever anyone has published to the world by pen or print, for any end of profit or pleasure, whether of free will or under constraint, by reading it is all made to serve us—in religion, to promote the love and fear of God, in law, to aid us in rendering obedience and service to our fellow-men, and in life generally to enable us to expel ignorance and acquire skill to do everything well. Wherefore I make Reading the first foundation on which everything else must rest, and being a thing of such moment, it should be thoroughly learned when it is once begun, as facility will save much trouble both to master and scholar at a later stage. The child should have his reading perfect both in the English and in the Latin tongue long before he dreams of studying grammar.

As for the question whether English or Latin should be first learned, hitherto there may seem to have been some reasonable doubt, although the nature of the two tongues ought to decide the matter clearly enough; for while our religion was expressed only in Latin, the single rule of learning was to learn to read that language, as tending to the knowledge valued by the Church. But now that we have returned to our English tongue as being proper to the soil and to our faith, this restraint is removed, and liberty is restored, so that we can follow the direction of reason and nature, in learning to read first that which we speak first, to take most care over that which we use most, and in beginning our studies where we have the best chance of good progress, owing to our natural familiarity with our ordinary language, as spoken by those around us in the affairs of every-day life. This is the better order also in respect that English presents certain difficulties that are absent in Latin, and that children can master more easily when their memories are still unstored, and considerations of reason do not affect them. While Latin has been purified to a definite form in which it has been fixed and preserved, English, though it is progressing very fairly, is still wanting in refinement, the spelling being harder, and the pronunciation harsher, than in Latin.

In this a special and continual regard should be had to these four points in the child—his memory, his delight, his capacity, and his advancement.

As to his memory, I would provide that as he must practise it even from the first, so he may also practise it upon the best, both for pleasure in the course of learning, and for profit afterwards.

As to his delight, which is no mean allurement to his learning well, I would be equally careful that the matter which he shall read, may be so fit for his years, and so plain to his intelligence, that when he is at school, he may desire to go forward in so interesting a study, and when he comes home, he may take great pleasure in telling his parents what pretty little things he finds in his book, and that the parents also may have no less pleasure in hearing their little one speak, so that each of them shall rather seek to anticipate the other, the child to be telling something, and the parent to be asking.

As to his capacity, I would so provide, that the matter which he shall learn may be so easy to understand, and the terms which I will use, so simple to follow, that both one and the other shall bring nothing but encouragement.

As to his advancement, I would be very particular that there may be such consideration and choice in syllables, words, and sentences, and in all the incidental notes, that there shall be nothing wanting which may seem worth the wishing, to help fully either in spelling correctly, or reading easily; so that the child who can read these well, may read anything else well, if the reading master will keep that order in his teaching which I intend to give him in my precept, and not do the infant harm by hurrying him on too fast, and measuring his forwardness not by his own knowledge but by the notions of his friends.

Next to reading followeth Writing, at some reasonable distance after, because it requireth some strength in the hand, which is not so steady and firm for writing as the tongue is stirring and ready for reading. But though in education writing should succeed reading, in its origin it must have been earlier. For the pen or some such instrument did carve, first roughly and then completely, the letter or letter-like device, and thereby did the eye behold in outward form what the voice delivered to the ear in sound, so that writing was used as the interpreter of the mind, and reading became the expounder of the pen. From its rude beginnings writing has advanced so much that it now proves the prop of remembrance, the executor of most affairs, the deliverer of secrets, the messenger of meanings, the inheritance of posterity, whereby they receive whatever is bequeathed to them, in law to live by, in letters to learn and enjoy. For the proper study of this valuable art the master must himself acquire, and must teach his scholar, a neat handwriting, fast and easy to read, and the matter of the headline, from which example is taken, should be pithy, and suitable for enriching the memory with a profitable provision. Practice should not be left off till it hath brought great skill and readiness, for writing once perfectly acquired is a wonderful help in the rest of our learning.

During the time of learning to read and to write the child’s intelligence will manifest itself so as to decide whether it may venture further upon greater learning, or were best, owing to some natural defect, to take to something requiring less skill. But if the child is set to any higher work while he is still of tender years, his master pushing him on beyond what he is ready for, there may be loss of temper, which often breaks out into beating, to the dulling of the child, the discouraging of the master, and the reproach of school-life, which should not only yield satisfaction in the end, when learning has become a sure possession, but should pass on very pleasantly by the way. Whatever children learn, they should learn perfectly, for if opportunity to go on further should fail them, through loss of friends or other misfortune, it were good that they know thoroughly what they had practised, whereas if it is known only imperfectly it will stand them in very small stead, or none at all. To write and read well is a pretty good stock for a poor boy to begin the world with.

After careful consideration of the matter no one will hold it open to controversy that Drawing with pen or pencil should be taught along with writing, to which it is very closely related. For a pen and penknife, ink and paper, a pair of compasses and a ruler, a desk, and a sandbox, will set them both up, and in these early years, while the fingers are flexible, and the hand easily brought under control, good progress can be made. And generally those that have a natural aptitude for writing will have a knack of drawing too, and show some evident talent in that direction. And the place that judgment holds in the mind as the measure of what is just and seemly, is filled in the world of sense by drawing, which judges of the proportion and aspect of all that appeals to the eyes.

Because Drawing uses both number and figure to work with, I would cull out as much numbering from Arithmetic, the mistress of numbers, and so much figuring out of Geometry, the lady of figures, as shall serve for a foundation to the child’s drawing, without either difficulty to frighten him, or tediousness to tire him. Whatever shall belong to colouring, shading, and such other technical points, since they are more the concern of the painter than of the beginner in drawing, I would reserve them for a later stage, and leave them to the student’s choice, when he is to specialise and betake himself to some particular trade in life. At which time, if he chance to choose the pen and pencil to live by, this introduction will then prove his great friend, as he himself shall find, when he puts it to the proof. Last of all, inasmuch as drawing is a thing that is thoroughly useful to many good workmen who live honestly by its means, and attain a good degree of estimation and wealth, such as architects, embroiderers, engravers, statuaries, modellers, designers, and many others like them, besides the learned use of it for Astronomy, Geometry, Geography, Topography, and such other studies, I would therefore pick out some special figures, appropriate to many of the foresaid purposes which it seems fittest to teach a child to draw, and I would also show how these are to be dealt with from their very beginning to their last perfection, seeing it is beyond all controversy that if drawing be thought needful it should be dealt with while the fingers are supple, and the writing is still in progress, so that both the pen and the pencil, both the rule and the compass, may go forward together.

Music completes the list of elementary subjects, and is divided into two parts—the cultivation of the voice, and the practice of an instrument, the former resembling reading, as it produces to the ear what is seen by the eye, the latter resembling writing, as it imitates the voice. Both should be begun early, while the voice and the muscles are still pliable to training. Singing has the advantage of being less costly than the study of an instrument in regard to the necessary provision. As to the value of Music, there can be no room for doubt; indeed, it seems to have been sent as a solace from heaven for the sorrows of earth. Some men think it is over sweet, and should be either dispensed with altogether, or at least not much practised. For my own part I cannot forbear to place it among the most valuable means in the upbringing of the young, and in this opinion I have the support of all the best authorities of antiquity. There are so many arguments in favour of the art; it is so ancient, so honourable, so universal, so highly valued in all times and places, alike in Church services and otherwise; it is such a calmer of passion, such a powerful influence on the mind, that I must stay my hand in writing about it, lest being fairly embarked I should be unable to stop. It will be enough for me to say of Music that it is in accordance with national custom, that it is very comforting to the wearied mind, that it is a means of persuasion which all must appreciate who delight in the proportions of number, that it is best and most easily learned in childhood, when it can do least harm, that its harmonies could not have such power to stir emotion if they had not some close natural affinity to the constitution of the body and soul of man, and that we see and read the wonderful effects it has had in the cure of desperate diseases. And yet with all its claims it arouses distrust in some quarters, even in honest and well-disposed natures that are too much inclined to sternness. They, however, will probably alter their opinion, if they will consider more deeply what Music is in its true nature, or if they come to discuss the matter with those who take a sounder view, or more certainly still if the art in its best form has a favourable chance of appealing to their listening ears. The science itself hath naturally great power to probe and sway the inclination of the mind to this or that emotion, through the properties of number in which it consists. It also gives great delight through its harmonies, to which the moods of the hearers respond. It is for this that some disapprove of it, holding that it provokes too much to vain pleasures, and lays the mind open to the entry of light thoughts. And to some also it seems harmful on religious grounds, because it carrieth away the ear with the sweetness of the melody, and bewitcheth the mind with a siren’s sound, seducing it from those pleasures wherein it ought to dwell, into fantasies of harmony, and withdrawing it from virtuous thoughts to strange and wandering devices. A sufficient answer to all this is that in respect of a thing that may be, and was meant to be, properly used, it is no just ground against it that it may also be abused. Music will not harm thee if thy behaviour be good, and thy intention honest; it will not betray thee if thy ears can take it in and interpret it aright. Receive it in a proper spirit, and it will serve thee to good purpose. If thy manners be bad, or thy judgment corrupt, it is not music alone which thou dost abuse, nor canst thou clear thyself of the blame that belongs to thy character by casting it on Music. It is thou that hast abused her, and not she thee. And why should those who can use it rightly forego their own good because of a few peevish people who can never be pleased?

The training in Music, as in all other faculties, has a special eye to these three points:—the child himself, who is to learn; the matter itself, which he is to learn; and the instrument itself, on which he is to learn. I will so deal with the first and the last heads, that is, in regard to the child and the instrument, that neither of them shall lack whatever is needful, either for framing the child’s voice, or exercising his fingers, or choosing his lessons, or tuning his instrument. For in the voice there is a proper pitch, where it is neither over nor under-strained, but delicately brought to its best condition, to last out well, and rise or fall within due compass, and so that it may become tunable and pleasant to hear. And in the training of the fingers also, there is regard to be had, both that the child strike the notes clearly, so as not to spoil the sound, and that his fingers run with certainty and lightness, so as to avoid indistinct execution. Of these the first commonly falls out through too much haste in the young learner, who is ever longing to press forward; the second fault comes of the master himself, who does not consider the natural dexterity and order of development in the joints, for if this is rightly attended to, the fingers easily become flexible and master difficulties of execution without pain. As for the matter of music, which the child is to learn, I would set down by what means and degrees, and by what lessons, a boy who is to be brought up to sing may and ought to proceed regularly from the first term of art, and the first note in sound, until he shall be able without any frequent or serious failure to sing his part in prick-song, either by himself at first while he is inexperienced, or with others for good practice afterwards. For I take so much to be enough for an Elementary institution, which can only introduce the subject, though it must follow the right principle, and I postpone the study of composition and harmony till further knowledge and maturity are attained, when the whole body of music will demand attention. And yet since the child must always be advancing in that direction, I would set him down to rules of composition and harmony, which will make him better able to judge of singing, just as in language he who is accustomed to write can best judge of a writer. Concerning the virginals and the lute, which two instruments I have chosen because of the full music uttered by them and the variety of execution they require, I would also set down as many chosen lessons for both as shall bring the young learner to play reasonably well on them, though not at first sight, whether by the ear or by the book, always provided that prick-song go before playing.

Children, therefore, are to be trained up in the Elementary School, for helping forward the abilities of the mind, in these four things, as recommended to us both by reason and custom: Reading, to enable us to receive what has been bequeathed to us by others, and to store our memories with what is best for us; Writing, to enable us to do for others what was done for us, by handing on the fruits of our own experience, and besides to serve our own purposes; Drawing, to be a guide to the senses, and to afford us pleasure in the objects of sight; and Music, both with the voice and with an instrument, for the reasons above stated.

By reading we receive what antiquity has left us; by writing we hand on what posterity craves of us; by both we get great advantage in all the circumstances of our daily life. By delineating with the pencil, what object is there open to the eye, either brought forth by nature, or set forth by art, the knowledge and use of which we cannot attain to? By the study of music, besides the acquirement of a noble science, so definitely formed by arithmetical precept, so necessary a step to further knowledge, such a glass in which to behold both the beauty of concord and the blots of dissension, even in a body politic, how much help and pleasure our natural weakness receives for consolation, for hope, for courage! I do not touch here on the skilful handling of the untrained voice, nor the fine exercising of the unskilled fingers, though these things are not to be neglected where they can be obtained, and are naturally required when imperfection is to be removed by them. Again, does not all our learning, apprehended by the eye and uttered by the tongue, confess the great benefit it receives by reading? Does not all our expression, brought forth by the mind and set down by the pen, acknowledge obligation to the study of writing? Do not all our descriptions, which picture to the sense what is fashioned in thought, both preach and praise the pencil which makes them visible? Does not all our delight in times of leisure,—and we labour only for the sake of gaining rest and freedom from care,—protest in plain terms that it is wonderfully indebted to the music of both voice and instrument? This is the natural sweetener of our bitter life, in the judgment of every man who is not too much soured. Now, what quality of learning is there, deserving of any praise, that does not fall within this elementary course, or is not furthered by it, whether it be connected with the higher professions, or occupations of lower rank, or the necessary trades of common life?

Inasmuch as Grammar is used partly as a help to foreign languages, it furthers us very much in that way, because all our learning being got from foreign countries, as registered in their tongues, if we lack the knowledge of the one, we lack the hope of the other.

When learning and knowledge came first to light, those men who were the authors of them uttered their minds in the same speech that they used when they bred the things. And as they needed no foreign tongue for matter that was bred at home, so they had no use of any Grammar but that by which they endeavoured to refine their natural speech at home. But when their devices, first set out in their own tongues, were afterwards sought for by foreign students to increase their learning and to enrich their country with foreign wares, the foreign students were then driven to seek the assistance of Grammar of the second kind, because they could not understand the things which were written in a foreign tongue, without the knowledge of the tongue itself.

In the primitive Grammar children being trained as I now require, went straightway from the elementary to the substance of learning, and to the mathematical sciences, which are so termed, because indeed the whole scholars’ learning consisted in them, as in the first degree of right study. For whatever goes before them in right order is nothing but mere elementary study, and whatever goes before them in wrong order, as it is distorted in nature, it works no great wonder. But in the second use of Grammar, we are forced of necessity, after the elementary subjects, however hurried and simple they may be, to deal with the tongues ere we pass to the substance of learning; and this help from the tongues, though it is most necessary, as our study is now arranged, yet hinders us in time, which is a thing of great price,—nay, it hinders us in knowledge, a thing of greater price. For in lingering over language we are removed and kept back one degree further from sound knowledge, and this hindrance comes in our best learning time, while we are under masters and readers, of whom we may learn far better than of ourselves, if as much regard be had to their choice, as I have elsewhere recommended.

The proof of a good Elementary Course is, that it should follow nature in the multitude of its gifts, and that it should proceed in teaching as she does in developing. For as she is unfriendly wherever she is forced, so she is the best guide that anyone can have, wherever she shows herself favourable. Wherefore, if nature makes a child most fit to excel in many aptitudes, provided these are furthered by early training, is not that education much to be blamed that fails to do its part, allowing the child to be deprived by negligence of the excellence that nature intended for it? Again, seeing that there are no natural gifts that cannot be helped forward by training, is not that manner of study to be most highly approved which takes most pains where nature is most lavish? The hand, the ear, the eye, are the chief means of receiving and handing on our learning. And does not this course of study instruct the hand how to write, to draw, to play; the eye to read by letters, to distinguish form by lines, to judge by means of both; the ear to call for the sound of voice and instrument for its own pleasure and cultivation? And, in general, whatever gift nature has bestowed upon the body, to be brought out or improved by training, for any profitable use in life, does not this elementary course find it out and make the most of it? As for the capacities of the mind, whether they concern virtuous living or skill in learning, whatever be the art, science, or profession to which they belong, do they not all evidently depend upon reading and writing as their natural foundations? The study of language must be the basis of grammar, rhetoric, logic, and their derivatives, among which may be counted all the parts of philosophy, both moral and natural, as well as the three professions of divinity, law, and medicine, using as they do in all their branches the instrument of speech. If mathematics be in question, or any kindred subjects that have a bearing on mechanical science, though their secondary use is to whet the mental powers, yet they must rest on a study of the properties of number, figure, motion, and sound. And as for our pleasure in the beauties of art, that is obtained by the provision of drawing for the eye and music for the ear. So that, in my opinion, the fathers and founders of this elementary course (which I am only attempting to reintroduce, though with as much goodwill as so good a thing deserves) have shown great foresight in laying such sure foundations as to secure that all natural capacities shall not only be carefully fostered at their first sprouting, but brought to the fullest perfection when they are ripe for the harvest. When I use the term nature I mean that power which God has implanted in his creatures, both to preserve the race and to fulfil the end of their being. The continuance of their kind is the proof of their being, but the fulfilment of their end is the fruit of their being. This latter is the point to which education has a special eye (though it does not despise the other), so that the young fry may be brought up to prove good in the end, and serve their country well in whatever position they may be placed. For the performance of this end I take it that this elementary course is most sufficient, being the best means of perfecting all those powers with which nature endows our race, by using those studies which art and reflection appoint, and those methods which nature herself suggests. For the end of education and training is to help nature to her perfection in the complete development of all the various powers.

This is what I mean by following nature, not counterfeiting her in her own proper work by foolish imitation, or perverse attempt to produce her effects, like an Apelles in portraiture or an Archimedes in the laws of motion, but after considering and marking with good judgment what are the natural tendencies and inclinations, to frame a scheme of education in consonance with these, and bring to perfection by art all those powers which nature bestows in frank abundance.

For the physical life of man, in order to maintain and develop both the individual and the species, nature has provided organs that receive, prepare and distribute nourishment for the body, and has, besides, given us for self-preservation the power of perceiving all sensible things by means of feeling, hearing, seeing, smelling, and tasting. These qualities of the outward world, being apprehended by the understanding and examined by the judgment, are handed over to the memory, and afterwards prove our chief—nay, our only—means of obtaining further knowledge. Moreover, we have also a power of movement, either under the influence of emotion or by the enticement of desire, either for the direct purposes of life, as in the action of the pulse and in breathing, or for outward action, such as walking, running, or leaping. To serve the end both of sense-perception and of motion, nature has planted in the body a brain, the prince of all our organs, which by spreading its channels through every part of our frame produces all the effects through which sense passes into motion.

Further, our soul has in it a desire to obtain what it holds to be good, and to avoid what it thinks evil. This desire is stirred either by quiet allurement or by violent incitement, and when once it is inflamed it strives to compass its end. To satisfy this desire nature has given us a heart to kindle heat, and as the sense is moved by the qualities of the object, and motion is effected by means of sinews, so appetite, being stirred by the object of desire or repulsion, is supplied with the means of satisfying itself.

Last of all, our soul has in it an imperial prerogative of understanding beyond sense, of judging by reason, of directing action for duty towards God and our fellowmen, for conquest in affection and attainment in knowledge, and for such other things as minister to the varied uses of our mortal life, and prove its title to continue beyond the sphere of this roaming pilgrimage. To serve this honourable purpose of understanding and reasoning, nature, though she has no place in this earthly body of ours worthy to receive such great and stately guests with their whole retinue, yet does what she can, and, herself acting as harbinger, assigns them for lodging her principal chamber, the very closet of the brain, where she bestows every one of reason’s understanding friends, according to their various ranks and special dignities. All those capacities in their first natural condition concern only the existence of an uncultivated man; but when they are fashioned to their best by good education, they form the life of a perfect and excellent man. For to exist merely, to feed, to multiply, to use the senses, to desire, to have natural and unimproved reason—what great thing is it, though it is something more than brute beasts have, if the other divine qualities that build upon these are not diligently followed? These higher powers not only rise out of the lower at the first, but honour them in the end, just as the best fruit honours its first blossom, or as the most skilful work graces the first ground on which it is wrought. Besides that they prove themselves to be the most excellent ends which nature meant from the first, though she herself made but a weak show, however pliable for man’s industry to work on for his own advantage. He who does not live at all cannot live well; he who does not feed at all cannot feed moderately; he who does not reproduce cannot exercise continence; he who has no sense cannot use it soberly; he who does not desire cannot desire considerately; he who uses no reason cannot use it advisedly. But he who exercises all these functions has in them all the capacities that nature can afford him to use them all well, and he will so use them if judgment rule as much in having them well as necessity in having them at all. For reason, as it is our difference in comparison with beasts, is our excellence in comparison with men, if we use it aright.

Those powers of reasoning and understanding in man, therefore, being handled in a workmanlike fashion and applied to their best uses by such devices and means as are thought fittest, direct the natural appetites so as to secure the health of the parts appointed for them, and of the whole body, which is compounded of those parts. They develop the senses and their organs to their best perfection and longest endurance. They restrain desire to the rule of reason and the advice of foresight. They enrich the mind and the soul itself by laying up in the treasury of remembrance all arts and imaginations, all knowledge, wisdom, and understanding, by which either God is to be honoured or the world is to be honestly and faithfully served; and this heavenly benefit is begun by education, and confirmed and perfected by continuous exercise, which crowns the whole work.

In naming the persons who were to receive the benefit of education I did not exclude young maidens, and, therefore, seeing I made them one branch of my division, I must now say something more about them. Some may think that the matter might well enough have been passed over in silence, as not belonging to my purpose, seeing that my professional concern is with the education of boys. But seeing that I begin as low as the first elementary training, in which young maidens ordinarily share, how could I seem to take no notice of them? And to prove that they ought to receive education I find four special reasons, any one of which—therefore surely all together—may persuade their greatest adversary, much more then myself, who am for them tooth and nail. The first is the custom of the country, which allows them to learn. The second is the duty we owe to them, charging us in conscience not to leave them deficient. The third is their own aptness to learn, which God would never have bestowed on them to remain idle or to be used to small purpose. The fourth is the excellent results shown in them when they have had the advantage of good upbringing.

I do not advocate sending young maidens to public Grammar Schools, or to the Universities, as this has never been the custom in this country. I would allow them learning within certain limits, having regard to the difference in their vocation, and in the ends which they should seek in study. We see young maidens are taught to read and write, and can learn to do well in both; we hear them both sing and play passing well; we know that they learn the best and finest of our learned languages to the admiration of all men. As to the living modern languages of highest reputation in our time, if any one is inclined to deny that in these they can compare with the best of our sex, they will claim no other tests than to talk with such a one in whichever of these tongues he may choose. These things our country doth stand to; these accomplishments their parents procure for them according to their means and opportunities, in so far as their daughters’ aptitude doth offer hope of their gaining an advantage through them, by being preferred in marriage or some other career. Nay, do we not see in our country some of that sex so excellently well trained, and so rarely qualified in regard both to the tongues themselves and to the subject-matter contained in them, that they may be placed along with, or even above, the most vaunted paragons of Greece or Rome, or the German and French gentlewomen so much praised by recent writers, or the Italian ladies who dare even to write themselves, and deserve fame for so doing?

And what be young maidens in relation to our sex? Do we not, according to nature, choose from among them those who are to be our nearest and most necessary friends, the mothers of our children? Are they not the very creatures that were made for our comfort, the only remedy for our solitude, our closest companions in weal or woe, sharers in all our fortunes until death? And can we in conscience do otherwise than give careful thought to the welfare of those that are linked to us in so many ways? Is it a small thing to have our children’s mothers well strengthened in mind as in body? And is there any better means of strengthening their minds than to teach them that knowledge of God and religion, of civil and domestic duties, which we ourselves gain by education, and ought not to deny to them—that education which is to be found in books, and can be so well acquired in youth?

If Nature has given to young maidens abilities to prove excellent in their kind, and yet thereby in no way to fail in their most laudable duties in marriage, but rather to beautify themselves with admirable ornaments, are we not to be charged with extreme unnaturalness if we do not guide by discipline what is given to them by Nature?

The excellent effects in those women who have been well trained show clearly that they deserve the best training. What better example can be found to assure the world than our most dear sovereign lady and princess, who is so familiarly acquainted with the nine Muses that they strive which may love her best for being the most learned, and for whose excellent knowledge we who taste of the fruit have most cause to rejoice?

But now having granted them the benefit and society of our education, we must determine the end which this training is to serve, so that it may be better applied. Our training is without restriction either as regards subject-matter or method, because our employment is so general; their functions are limited, and so must their education be also. If a young maiden is to be brought up with a view to marriage, obedience to authority and similar qualities must form the best kind of training; if from necessity she has to learn how to earn her own living, some technical training must prepare her for a definite calling; if she is to adorn some high position she must acquire suitable accomplishments; if she is destined for government, which may be offered to her by men, and is not denied her by God, the greatness of the position calls for general excellence, and a variety of gifts. Wherefore, having these different ends always in view, we may appoint them different kinds of training in accordance with circumstances.

But some churlish carper will say: “What should women do with learning?” Such a one will never pick out the best, but be always ready to blame the worst. If all men always made a good use of their learning we might have something to allege against women, but seeing that misuse is common to both sexes why should we blame them, when we are not free from the same infirmity ourselves? Some women may make a bad use of their writing, others of their reading; some may turn all that they learn to bad account. And I pray you what do we? I do not excuse ill, but I bar those from accusing who are as bad themselves. As we share both virtues and vices with women, let us exchange forbearance, and, hoping for the best, give them free opportunity.

This is my opinion as to which ought to be educated and when they should begin. The same liberty, in respect of circumstances, being allowed to parents in regard to their daughters as has been granted to them with their sons, the same consideration being had for their fitness of mind and body, and the same care being taken for suitable physical exercise to further their health and strength, I consider the same time of beginning proper for both—a time not to be wholly determined by years, but rather by their development as shown by their ability to use their intelligence without tiring, and to work without wearying their bodies. For though girls seem generally to have a quicker ripening of intelligence than boys, in spite of appearances this is not the case. Through natural weakness they cannot contain long what they possess, and so give it out very soon; yet there are prating boys just as there are prattling wenches. Besides, their brains are not so much laden as those of boys, either as regards amount or variety, and therefore like empty casks they make the greater noise. In the same way those men who seem to be very quickwitted by some sudden pretty answer or some sharp repartee, are not always most burdened with learning, but merely offer the best out of a small store, taking after their mothers. Though they must of course possess this sharpness of wit since it manifests itself, yet it might dwell within them a great while without manifesting itself, if study kept them quiet, or they were preoccupied with great deeds. It is small affairs, urging to speedy expression, that beget that kind of readiness. Boys have it always but often hide it because they can afford to wait; girls have it always and always show it, because they are in a greater hurry. And seeing it is to be found in both, it deserves care in both, so that they should neither be pushed on too much nor allowed to be idle too long. Maidens are naturally weaker in body, therefore more attention must be paid to them in this regard than is necessary for boys. They are to be the principal pillars in the upholding of households, and so they are likely to prove if their training be wise. They will be the dearest comfort a man can have if they incline to good, the greatest curse, if they tread awry. Therefore they are to be warily tended, as they bear a jewel of such worth in a vessel of such weakness.

The rare excellences in some women cannot be taken as a precedent for all to follow, as they only show us the special success that a few parents have attained in their daughters’ upbringing. These shining examples, however, though they cannot be used to form general precepts, are at least proofs that women can learn if they will, and may learn what they please, if they lend their minds to it. To learn to read is very common where it is convenient, and writing is not refused, where opportunity serves. Reading, even if it were of no other use, is very needful for religion, to enable them to know what they ought to perform, if they have none whom they can listen to, or if their memories are not steadfast, to refresh them. Here I may not omit many great pleasures which those women that have time and skill to read, without hindering their housewifery, do continually receive by reading comforting and wise discourses, penned either in the form of history or directions to live by. As for writing, though it may be abused, it is often very convenient, especially in matters of business.

Music is very desirable for maidens where it is to be had, though chiefly for the satisfaction of the parents when the daughters are young, as is generally shown when the young wenches become young wives, and in learning to be mothers, lightly forget their music, thus proving that they studied it more to please their parents than themselves. But if having been once learned, it can be kept up, as is quite possible with proper management, it is a pity to let it go, as it was acquired only with great pains and at considerable cost. Learning to sing and play from the notes is easy enough, if it be attended to from the first, and this can be kept up too, though it suffers from discontinuance. Seeing it is but little that girls can learn, the time being so short, because they are always in haste to get husbands, it is expedient that what they do should be done perfectly, so that with the loss of their penny they do not lose their pennyworth also.

As for skill in needlework and housewifery, it is a great recommendation in a woman to be able to govern and direct her household, to look to her home and family, to provide and take care of necessaries, although the good-man pay, to know the resources of her kitchen in regard to all over whom she has charge, in sickness and in health. But I meddle not with this as I am only dealing with things that are incident to learning. I have now spoken of all the subjects that should universally be taught to girls.

The question as to how far any maiden may proceed in learning beyond the subjects already spoken of requires more consideration and more careful handling as it is a matter of some moment concerning those in high position. And yet there are some of low degree that seek to resemble those above them, and are satisfied even with an appearance of imitation, but in so doing they are passing the bounds of what is beseeming to their birth. It is mere folly when a parent of humble station traineth up his daughter in these high accomplishments, of which I shall presently speak, if she marries in her own lowly rank. For in such a case these gifts will seem so out of place that she will not gain the respect that is paid to one who has been wisely brought up, but will rather be accused of vain presumption. Each rank has a certain preparation becoming to it, which is best secured when there is no attempt to overstretch one’s powers. If some unusual capacity attain success beyond expectation, it is generally a marked exception, and whoever shoots at the same mark, in the hope of hitting, may sooner miss, for there are many chances of missing to one of hitting, and wonders that are seen only once are no examples to imitate. Every maid may not hope to speed as she would wish, because one hath sped better than she could have wished.

When the question is how much a woman ought to learn, the answer may be, “as much as shall be needful,” and if this is doubtful also, the reply may be, either as much as befits what her parents hope to obtain for her, if their position be humble, or as much as is in keeping with the prospects naturally belonging to their rank, if that rank be high. If the parents be of good standing, and the daughters have special aptitudes, these may be successfully cultivated, so that the young maidens are very soon commended to right honourable matches in which their accomplishments will be seemly and serviceable, benefitting perhaps the commonwealth as well as their own families. If the parents be of humble rank, and the maidens in their education show from the very first some special gifts that offer good promise, even with natural progress, there is ground for hope that their unusual qualities may bring them to some great match. Doubtless this hope may fail, for great personages have not always the good judgment, nor young maidens the good fortune, that would lead to such a result, yet in any case the maidens would remain the gainers, for they at least have their gifts to comfort their mediocre station, and those great personages lose from the lack of judgment to set forth their nobility.

Carrying the education further may consist either in perfecting the four studies already mentioned, reading well, writing neatly, singing sweetly, and playing finely, to such an unusual degree, that though the things are but ordinary, special excellence in them may bring more than ordinary admiration, or else in acquiring skill in languages in addition to the above, so that the abundance of gifts may cause yet more wonder.

I fear women would have little turn for geometry or the sister sciences, nor would I make them mathematicians, except in so far as they study music, nor lawyers to plead at the bar, nor physicians, though skill in herbs has been much commended in women, nor would I have them profess divinity, to preach in pulpits, though they must practice it as virtuous livers. Philosophy would help them in general discourse, if they had leisure to study it, but the knowledge of some tongues, either as the vehicle of deeper learning, or for their immediate uses, may well be wished for them, and all those powers also that belong to the furniture of speech. If I should allow them the pencil to draw, as well as the pen to write, and thereby entitle them to all my elementary studies, I might have good reasons to give. For young maidens are ready enough to take to it, and it would help to beautify their needlework.

And is not a young gentlewoman, think you, thoroughly well equipped who can read distinctly, write neatly and swiftly, sing sweetly, and play and draw well, understand and speak the learned languages, as well as the modern tongues approved by her time and country, and who has some knowledge of logic and rhetoric, besides the information acquired in her study of foreign languages? If in addition to all this she be an honest woman and a good housewife, would she not be worth wishing for and worth enshrining? And is it likely that her children will be one whit the worse brought up?

The only other question in regard to young maidens is where, and under whom, they should learn, and this depends on how long their studies can extend, which is generally till they are about thirteen or fourteen years old.

Those who are able to continue longer have their time and place suitably appointed, according to the circumstances of their parents. As for their teachers, their own sex were fittest in some respects, but ours frame them best, and with good regard to some circumstances, will bring them up excellently well, especially if the parents co-operate by exercising a wise control over them. The greater-born ladies and gentlemen, as they are to enjoy the benefit of this education most, so they have the best means of prosecuting it, being able to secure the best teachers, and not being limited in time. And so I take my leave of young maidens and gentlewomen, to whom I wish as well as I have said well of them.

Under my last heading I set forth at large how young maidens were to be advanced in learning according to their rank, which methought was very incident to my purpose, because they are counterbranches to us as mortal and reasonable creatures, and also because they are always our mates, and may sometimes, according to law and birth, be our mistresses. Now, considering that they are always closely connected with us, and sometimes exceed us in dignity of position, as they share with us all qualities, and all honours even up to the sceptre, why should they not also share in our training and education, so that they may perform well the part which they have to play, whether it be in a position of equality with us, or sovereignity above us? Here now ensueth another question of great importance in regard to the kind of people who are to be dealt with, the question of a class whose position is always in the superlative, and of whom great things are expected, though sometimes by their own fault they forfeit their chances, and hand them over to others whom nature ennobles through their inborn virtues—I mean young gentlemen of all ranks up to the crown itself. It is the custom among those of good birth to prefer to have their sons educated privately at home rather than at school. This is reasonable enough for maidens because of their sex, but young gentlemen should be educated publicly, that they may have the benefit of mixing with others, as has been the custom in all the best ordered commonwealths, and has been recommended by all the most learned writers, even in the case of princes.

What is the import of these two words ‘private education’? Private is that which hath respect in all circumstances to some particular case; public in all circumstances regardeth every one alike. Education is the bringing up of one, not to live alone, but amongst others, because company is our natural medium; whereby he shall be best able to perform all those functions in life which his position shall require, whether public or private, in the interest of his country in which he was born, and to which he owes his whole service. All these functions are in reality public, and concern everyone, even when they seem most private, because individual ends must be adjusted to wider social ends; and yet people give the preference to private education where all the circumstances are peculiar to one learner; as if he who was brought up alone were always to live alone, or as if one should say, ‘I will have you to deal with all, but never to see all; your end shall be public, but your means shall be private.’ How can education be private? It is an abuse of the name as well as of the thing. This isolation, for a pretended advantage in education, of those who must afterwards pass on together, is very mischievous, as it allows every parent to follow out his own whims, relying on the privacy of his own house to be free from criticism, on the subserviency of the teacher whom he may choose to suit his own purposes, and on the submission of his child who is bound to obey him on pain of meeting his displeasure. In public schools such swerving from what is generally approved is impossible. The master is always in the public eye, what he teaches is known to all; the child is not alone, and he learns only what has been submitted to the judgment of the community. Whatever inconveniences may be inseparable from schools, still greater arise in private education. It puffs up the recluse with pride; it is an enemy to sympathy between those who have unequal opportunities; it fosters self-conceit in the absence of comparison with others; it encourages contempt in the superior, and envy in the inferior. This kind of education which soweth the seed of dissension by discovering differences, where the fruits of a common upbringing should be seen in the firm knitting of social bonds, should be discouraged owing to its effect in instilling the poison of spite. Certainly the thing doth naturally tend this way, though its influence may be often interrupted in time by the pressure of public opinion. But if the child turn out better then I have forecast, and show himself courteous, it will be due to his natural goodness, or to his experience outside, not to the kind of education which brings no such courtesy, though the child may see it in his parents, and read of it in his books. Sometimes it maketh him too sheepishly bashful when he comes to the light, owing to his being unaccustomed to company. More commonly, however, he is too childishly bold through noting nothing except what he breeds in his own mind in his solitary training, where he thinks only of himself, and has none to control him, not even his master, whatever show there may be of obedience to authority in this private cloistering. Surely it is reasonable for one in his childhood to become acquainted with other children, seeing he has to live with them as men in his manhood. Is it good for the ordinary man to be brought up on a well-regulated public system, and not good for the man of higher position? By ‘private’ I do not mean what is done at home for public uses—in that case almost everything might be called private—but what is kept at home by preference, in order to serve the better the interest of a particular individual. It would seem to be generally a question not of the matter or the method of education, but of the select privacy of the place where it is given. I must beg leave to say that the results are in favour of public training, which from the midst of mediocrity brings up scholars of such excellence that they take a worthy place in all ranks, even next to the highest, whereas private education with all its advantages of wealth, doth rarely show anything in learning and judgment above bare mediocrity. There is no comparison between the two kinds, if prejudice be set aside. If the privately-taught pupil chance to come to speak, it mostly falleth out dreamingly, because seclusion in education is a punishment to the tongue; and in teaching a language to exclude companions to speak to, is like seeking to quench thirst, yet closing the mouth so that no moisture can get in. If such a pupil come to write, it is lean, and nothing but skin, betraying the great pains the master hath had to take, in default of any helping circumstances through the pupil’s intercourse with companions. The boy can but repeat what he hears, and he hears only one person who, though he knew everything, cannot say much, for he hath no sufficient audience to provoke him to utterance. If the master made an effort to deliver himself of anything weighty, methinks an unobserved listener would hear a strange discourse, and would find the boy asleep; or, if he had a companion, playing with his hands or feet under the table, with one eye on his talking master and the other on his playmate.

But why is private education so much in vogue? There may be some excuse for those of very high position, especially for the prince himself, who standing alone, cannot well mix with his subjects, and must do what he can to surpass them without this advantage. Yet if even the greatest could have his education so arranged that he might have the company of a good choice number, wherein to see all the differences of capacity and learn to judge of all, as he hath afterwards to deal with all, would it be any sacrilege? But why do the gentry in this respect rather ape their superiors in rank, than follow the class below, who are really liker to them, and who form the chief supporters of the State? To have the child learn better manners and have more virtuous surroundings! As bad at home as outside; evil manners are brought into school, not bred there. To avoid the distraction of large numbers? The child shall notice the more, and so prove the wiser, the multitude of examples offering the means of sound judgment. Nay, in a number, though he find some undesirable, whom he should avoid, he shall find many apt and industrious, whom to follow. In school, moreover, he shall perceive that vice is punished, and virtue praised, as needs must where all is done in the public view. Is it to keep the child in health by making him bide at home, for fear of infection outside? Death is within doors also, and dainties at home have destroyed more children than dangers outside. Is it from affection, because ye cannot bear to let the child out of your presence? That is too foolish. Emulation is a great inspirer of virtue. If your child do well at home alone, how much better would he do with company? It quickens the spirits, and enlivens the whole nature, to have to compete with others—to have perhaps one companion ahead of him to follow and learn from, another below him to teach and vaunt over, and a third of his own standing with whom to strive for praise of forwardness.

To sum up this question, I do take public education to be better than private, as being more upon the stage, where faults are more readily seen and so are sooner amended, and as being the best means of acquiring both virtue and learning, which flourish according to their first planting. What virtue is private? Wisdom, to foresee what is good for a desert? Courage, to defend where there is no assailant? Temperance, to be modest where there is none to challenge? Justice, to do right when there is none to demand it?

As for the education of gentlemen, at what age shall I suggest that they should begin to learn? Their minds are the same as those of the common people, and their bodies are often worse. The same considerations in regard to time must apply to all ranks. What should they learn? I know of nothing else, nor can I suggest anything better, than what I have already suggested for all. Only young gentlemen must have some special studies that will help them to govern under their prince in positions of trust. They should have always before them the virtues that belong to the government of others, and to the wise direction of their own conduct. However, the general matter of duty being taught to all, each one may apply it to his own particular case, without the need for any special reference outside the ordinary school course, especially seeing that the duties of government just as often fall into the hands of those of lower rank whose virtue and capacity win them promotion. What exercises shall young gentlemen have? The very same as other children. What masters? The same. What difference of arrangements? All one and the same, except where private education is preferred, though, as I have said, they are none the better for the want of good fellowship. And if they are as well taught and as well exercised as should follow from the general plan laid down for all young children, they shall have no cause to complain of public education. For it is no mean stuff which is provided even for the meanest to be stored with.

The children of gentlemen have great advantages, which they may thank God for; they can carry on their education to the end, whereas those of the humbler class have to give it up sooner, and they have many opportunities which are denied to ordinary learners. If they fail to use these advantages aright they are all the more to blame, just as the greater credit is due to those who in spite of hindrances make such advancement that they win the preferments forfeited by the negligence of those to whom they naturally belong.

As for rich men, who not being of gentle birth, but growing to wealth by some means or other, imitate gentlemen in the education of their children, as if money made equality, and the purse were the ground of preferment, without any other consideration, who contemn the lower ranks from which they sprang, and cloister up their children as a support to their position, they are in the same case as regards freedom of choice, but far behind in true gentility. As they were of lower condition themselves, they might with more acceptance continue their children in the same kind of training which brought up the parents and made them so wealthy, and not try to push themselves into a rank too far beyond their humble origin. For of all the means to make a gentleman, money is the most vile. All other means have some sign of virtue, but this is too bad to mate either with high birth, or with great worth. For to become a gentleman is to bear the cognisance of virtue, to which honour is companion; the vilest devices are the readiest means to become most wealthy and ought not to look honour in the face. It may be pretended that intelligence and capacity have enabled them to make their way, but it is not denied that these qualities may be turned to the worst uses, may only once in a thousand times make a gentleman. It is not intelligence that deserves praise, but the matter to which it has been directed, and the manner in which it has been employed. When it is bestowed wisely on the good of the community, it deserveth all praise; if devoted wholly to filling a private purse, without regard to the means, so long as nothing evil is disclosed, then it deserveth no praise for the result, but rather suspicion as to the method of bringing it about. These people in their business will not scruple to bring poverty to thousands, and for giving a penny to one of these thousands they will be accounted charitable. They will give a scholar some pretty exhibition, in order to seem religious, and under a slender veil of counterfeit liberality will hide the spoil of ransacked poverty. And though they do not profess to be impoverishing people of set purpose, yet their kind of dealing doth pierce as it passeth.

But of these kind of folks I intend not to speak. My purpose is to employ my pains upon such as are gentlemen indeed. Yet it is worth that gives name and note to nobility; it is virtue that must endow it, or vice will undo it. As I wish well to this class, so I wish their education to be good, and if it were possible, even better than that of ordinary people. But that cannot be, for the common training, if it be well appointed, is the best and fittest for them, especially as they may have it in full, while those of meaner rank have to be content with it incomplete.

Before I enter upon the training of gentlemen and show what is specially suitable for them, I will examine those points which are best got by good education, and being once got do adorn them most, which two considerations are not foreign to my purpose. I must first ask what it is to be a gentleman or a nobleman, and what qualities these terms assume to be present in the persons of those to whom they are applied, and afterwards, what are the causes and uses of gentility, and the reasons why it is so highly thought of.

But ere I begin to deal with any of these points, once for all I must recommend to those of gentle birth exercise of the body, and chiefly such kinds as besides benefiting their health shall best serve their calling and place in their country. Just as those qualities which I have set forth for the general training, being most easily compassed in their perfection by them, may very well beseem a gentlemanly mind, so may the physical exercises without exception be found useful, either to make a healthy body, seeing that our constitution is all the same, or to prepare them for such occupations as belong to their position. Is it not for a gentleman to follow the chase and to hunt? Doth their place reprove them if they have skill to dance? Is skill in sitting a horse no honour at home, no help abroad? Is the use of a weapon suitable to their calling any blemish to them? Indeed those great exercises are most proper to such persons and are not for those of meaner rank.

What is it then to be a nobleman or a gentleman? The people of this country are either gentlemen or of the commonalty. The latter is divided into those who are engaged in trade, and those who work with their hands. Their distinction is by wealth, for some of them, who have enough and more, are called rich men, some who have no more than enough, poor men, and some who have less than enough, beggars. There are also three ranks in gentility, the gentlemen, who are the cream of the common people, the noblemen, who are the flower of gentility, and the prince, who is the primate and pearl of nobility. Their difference is in authority, the prince having most, the nobleman coming next, and the gentlemen under both. To be virtuous or vicious, to be rich or poor, are no peculiar badge of either kind; a gentleman or a common man may alike be virtuous or vicious, rich or poor, with land or without it. But as the gentleman in any position must have the power of exercising his lawful authority there are some virtues that seem to belong to him specially, such as wisdom in policy, valour in execution, justice in forming decisions, modesty in demeanour. Whether gentility come by descent or desert makes no difference; he that giveth fame to his family first, or he that deserveth such honour, or he that adds to his heritage by noble means, is the man whom I mean. He that continueth what he received through descent from his ancestry, by desert in his own person, hath much to thank God for, and doth well deserve double honour among men, as bearing the true coat of arms of the best nobility, when desert for virtue is quartered with descent in blood, seeing that ancient lineage and inheritance of nobility are in such credit among us, and always have been. As gentility argueth a courteous, civil, well-disposed, sociable constitution of mind in a superior degree, so doth nobility imply all these and much more, in a higher rank with greater authority. And do not these distinctive qualities deserve help by good and virtuous education?

Excellent wisdom, which is the means of advancing grave and politic counsellors, is but a single cause of preferment; likewise valour, which is the means of making a noble and gallant captain, is but a single cause of advancement; but where these two qualities, wisdom and courage, are combined in the same man, the merit is doubled. The means of preferment which depend upon learning are either martial, for war and defence in relation to foreign countries, or political, for peace and tranquillity at home. The warrior seems to depend most on his personal courage and experience, which without any learning or reading at all, have often brought forth excellent leaders, but with those helps in addition produce most rare and famous generals. Those who use the pen most in taking part in the direction of public government, or in filling the necessary offices in the administrative or judicial service of the State, for the common peace and quietness, without profession of further learning, though they have their chief instrument of credit from books, are not debtors to book-knowledge only, because industry, experience, and discretion have much to do with their success. It is those who depend wholly upon learning that I am most concerned with, when I ask how gentlemen should be trained to have them learned.

The highest position to which learned valour doth give advancement, is that of a wise counsellor, the fruit of whose learning is policy, not in the limited sense where it is opposed to straightforwardness, but in the philosophical sense, as meaning the general skill to judge things rightly, to see them in their due proportions, to adapt them to any given circumstances, with as little disturbance as possible to existing arrangements, whether it be in matters religious or secular, public or private, professional or industrial. Such a man is, in the sphere of religion, a divine who is able to judge soundly of the general principles and applications of divinity; in the sphere of government, a lawyer who makes the laws in the first instance, and knows best how to have them kept; in short he is the man, whether he be concerned with ecclesiastical or temporal affairs, and whatever his rank or his profession may be, who is most sound and able, and sufficient in all points. And though the specialist may know more than he in any particular matter which he has not leisure to get up thoroughly himself, yet he will be able to make such skilful and methodical enquiries of the special student that he will probe his knowledge to the bottom, and then handle the material he gains to better purpose than the other could with all his scholarship. Of all those that depend upon learning I hold this kind of man worthiest to be preferred, in divinity a chief among divines, though he do not preach, in law, the first of lawyers, though he do not plead, and similarly in all the other departments of public direction. But wherefore is all this? To show how necessary a thing it is to have young gentlemen well brought up. For if these causes do make the man of mean birth noble, what will they do in him whose honour is augmented with perpetual increase, if he add personal worth to his nobility in blood? Wherefore the necessity of the training being evidently so great, I will handle that as well as I can, by way of general precept, with reference to those whose wisdom is their weight, learning their line, justice their balance, honour their armour, and all the different virtues their greatest ornaments in the eyes of all men.

As I have already said, I know no better training for the gentleman than that which is provided under proper conditions for the ordinary man; but while the latter learns first for necessity, and afterwards for advancement, the greater personage ought to study for his credit and honour as well. For which be gentlemanly accomplishments, if these be not—to read, to write, to draw, to sing, to play, to have language and learning, health and activity, nay, even to profess Divinity, Law, Medicine, or any other worthy occupation? These things a gentleman hath most leisure to acquire, and not being too much under the spur of necessity he can practise them with uprightness. These so-called “liberal” professions are too commonly now in the hands of meaner men, who make a trade of their high calling, and only seek to enrich themselves. Doth Divinity teach to scrape, or Law to scratch, or any other kind of learning to which the epithet “liberal” is applied? The practice of these callings crieth for help to ransom it from the pressure of selfish needs to which it hath fallen a prey, owing to the indifference of the nobility, who think anything far more seemly to bestow their time and wealth upon than the learned professions. But if young gentlemen of parts would be pleased to be so well affected toward their country as to shoulder out mercenary professional men by themselves taking their places, how fortunate it would be for the country, and for the young gentlemen as well! Enough might be spared for such employment without unduly lessening the numbers that fill the court and carry on military and judicial functions only too abundantly. If the warlike gentlemen betook themselves to arms and paid more attention to exercise, and if the more peacefully-inclined took their books and fell to learning, recalling by diligence those faculties which they have for so long allowed to run waste, should not the change be welcomed? This were better than vain foppery and travelling about.

What is this travelling? I do not ask in regard to merchants, whom necessity obliges to travel and to tarry long from home for the sake of their own trade and often of our benefit, nor in regard to soldiers, who when there is peace at home must go abroad to learn in foreign wars how to defend their country when it is necessary. Nor do I refer to such travellers as Solon, or Pythagoras, or Plato, who sought knowledge where it was, in order to bring it where it was not. We have no need to travel in search of learning as they did. We have at this day, thanks to printing, as much of that as any country needs to have,—nay, as much as the ancient world ever possessed, if we would use it aright. And young gentlemen, if they made the best use of their wealth, might procure and maintain such excellent masters and companions and libraries, that they might acquire all the best learning far better by studying quietly at home than by stirring about, if the desire for knowledge were the cause of their travelling. And this excuse is made even by people of meaner rank, who love to look abroad for instruction that they could get quite well at home from competent persons who never crossed the seas. If there be defects in our own country, they can be remedied out of our own resources by giving good heed to the matter, without the need of borrowing from other lands. What, then, is travel, interrupting education as it does, and raising the question whether young gentlemen in choosing it are benefiting their country and themselves? To travel is to see countries abroad, to mark their singularities, to learn their languages, and to return thence with an equipment of wisdom that will serve the needs of one’s own country.

There may be some who gain all these advantages from travel; but for one whose natural excellence and virtue will turn such a hazardous experience to profit, there are many to whom it will prove pernicious, owing to their impetuous temper and their command of money beyond the discretion of their years. And while these are engaged in travel, what might they have been acquiring at home? Sounder learning, the same study of language, and, above all, the love of their native land, which groweth by familiarity, but is mightily impaired by absence and an acquired fancy for foreign customs.

What is the natural end of being born in a particular country? To serve one’s fatherland. With foreign fashions? They will not fit. For every country has its own appropriate laws and arrangements, and its special circumstances can be understood only by those who study its constitution carefully on the spot. What is quite suitable and excellent for other nations may not bear transplanting here; it may not fit in with the habits of our people, or at least the change might require so much effort that it would not be worth the cost. I do not deny that travel is good, if it hits on the right person; though I think the same labour, with equally good intentions, could be spent with better results at home. He that roameth abroad hath no such line to lead him as he that tarrieth at home, unless his understanding, years and experience offer better security than is the case with those of whom I am now speaking. Foreign things fit us not; or, if they fit our backs, at least they do not fit our brains, unless there be something amiss there. If we wish to learn from other countries, it is better to summon a foreign master to us than to go abroad as foreign scholars ourselves.

Our ladies at home can acquire all the accomplishments of these travelled gentlemen without stirring abroad, for it is not what one has seen that is of value, but the languages and learning that are brought back, and these are to be found at home. Our lady mistress, whom I must needs remember when excellence is being spoken of, a woman, a gentlewoman, a lady, a princess, in the midst of many other affairs of business, in spite of her sex and sundry impediments to a free mind such as learning requireth, can do all these things to the wonder of all hearers, which I say young gentlemen can learn better at home, as Her Majesty did. It may be said that Her Majesty is not to be used as a precedent, seeing she is of a princely courage that would not be overthrown by any difficulty in learning what might advance her person beyond all praise, and help her position beyond expectation. But yet it may be said, why may not young gentlemen, who can allege no obstacle, obtain with more liberty what Her Highness got with so little? It is having as much money as they like that eggs them on to wander. If they went abroad as ambassadors to acquire experience through dealing with great affairs, or if they were well known as learned men to whom important information would everywhere naturally be offered, or if they even went in the train of the former, or under the tuition of the latter, so that authority might secure benefits for them and preserve them from harm, I would not disapprove of it, as they might then learn to follow in the footsteps of their leaders. But this is a very different matter from the pursuit of those special ends that could be better attained at home. For good, simple, well-meaning young gentlemen, strong in purse and weak in years, to travel at a venture in places where there is danger to health, to life, to conduct, far from the chances of succour and rescue—the thought is so repugnant to me that I know not what to say.

I do wish then that well-disposed young gentlemen would be pleased to betake themselves betimes to some kind of learning that is indeed liberal, seeing that their circumstances protect them from interested motives, and enable them to serve their country honourably. Instead of all becoming lawyers or court officials, why do not some of them choose to be divines, or physicians, or to take up some other learned profession? Any gentleman in our country who is now so qualified is esteemed and honoured above all others of his calling, and indeed gets some honour even if he is not particularly well qualified. Are not these professions to be reverenced for their subject-matter and for their influence? And are they not therefore proper for the nobility? I do not hold the conduct of barbarous invasions to be the true field of activity for the nobility; they should be for the most part peaceful, and warlike only for defence if the country be assailed, or for attack if previous wrongs are to be avenged. Nor do I take wealth to be any worthy cause of honour to the owner, unless it be both got by laudable means and employed in commendable ways, nor any quality or gift that adorns the body, unless it serves a good purpose, nor any endowment of the mind which is not exercised in conformity with reason and wisdom. Such gifts are demanded in the callings I have named as worthy of the nobility. Who dare think lightly of divinity in itself? There is more hesitation now about adopting it as a profession than formerly, when the emoluments were greater, and the dignity more generally recognised, but the position grows better again, and a good gentleman may find in it the honour which he seeks. As for medicine, if gentlemen will not study and practise it, they must pay the penalty of ignorance, as they will suffer in their own bodies as well as in their pockets by leaving the profession to those of meaner rank, whose attendance is often rather flattering and fawning than intelligent services. This caution, however, young gentlemen must bear in mind, that it were a great deal better they had no learning at all and knew their own ignorance, than a mere smattering, incomplete of its kind, and insecurely held in their minds. For their acknowledged ignorance harms only themselves, as others more skilful may supply their places, but unripe learning puffeth them up, and their rank encourages them to be superficial, either in not digesting what they have read, or in not reading sufficiently, or in doing desultory work, or presuming on their station to defend ill-considered notions. To conclude, I wish young gentlemen to be better than ordinary men in the best kind of learning, as they have ampler opportunities of acquiring it and turning it to good account for the benefit of their country and their own honour.

As a child, the greatest prince may be, like other children, in soul either fine or gross, in body either strong or weak, in form either well-developed or ill, so that in regard to the time for beginning to learn and the proper course of study, he is no less subject to the general laws already laid down than his subjects are. We must take him as God sends him, for we cannot choose as we would wish, just as he must make the best of his people, though his people be not the best. When the young prince’s elementary education is past, and there is more scope for reading, care must be taken to choose such matter as may recommend humility as well as afford adequate knowledge, so that competence in affairs may be supported by the gift of courteous persuasion. Intercourse with foreign ambassadors, and conference with his own counsellors, require both a knowledge of tongues and a knowledge of the matters that come under discussion. And as he governeth his State by means of his two arms, the ecclesiastical, which preserves and purifies religion, the main support of voluntary obedience, and the political, which by maintaining the civil government doth keep order and diffuse well-being, if he lack knowledge to use his arms aright, is he not more than lame? And is not his best help to be found in learning? Martial skill is needful, but only for defence, because a stirring prince, always ready to make aggression, is a plague to his people and a punishment to himself, and even when he seems to gain most, is only getting what he or his descendants must some day lose again with perhaps something in addition. But religious knowledge is far more important, being specially necessary for a prince, inasmuch as he hath none but God to fear. Almighty God be thanked who hath at this day lent us a Princess who indeed feareth Him, and who therefore, deserving to be loved, desires not to be feared by us. I pray God long to preserve her whose good education doth teach us what education can do, and I have good cause to rejoice that this work of mine concerning education is given forth in her time.

I turn to the question whether it is better for a child to board with his master or elsewhere, or to come from home daily to school. If the place where the parents dwell be near the school, or only so far off that the very walk may be for the boy’s health, and if the parent himself be careful and wise to be as good a furtherer in the training of his own child as he is a father to its being, then certainly the parent’s home is much better, if for nothing else, yet because the parent can more easily at all times look after the interests of his own, having only one or a few, than the schoolmaster can after his ordinary duties are over, especially as he will have to divide his attention among many. Further, all the considerations which persuade people rather to have their children taught at home than along with others outside, especially with regard to their manners and behaviour, form arguments for their at least boarding at home, if the parents will take their position seriously, because the parent can both see to the upbringing of the child outside school and interest himself in the work done by the child in school. For undoubtedly the masters are wearied with working all day, so that the individual help they can give in their homes in the evening can be but little, without at once tiring the master unduly and dulling the child, if he is always poring over his books. There must be times for recreation if anything is to be well done continuously. Can anyone help thinking that it is a great deal more than enough for the master to teach, and the scholar to learn, daily from 6 in the morning till 11, and from 1 in the afternoon till wellnigh 6 at night, if the time is to be really well applied—nay, even if the hours were a great deal fewer? And may not the rest of the day be reasonably spent in some recreation that offers a pleasant variety to both parties? In the master’s home I grant children may keep school hours better, and be less liable to idleness and truancy; the master also may keep them better under his eye in his general teaching when they are wholly under his care in place of his own children, may arrange their hours better according to the subjects they are studying, and may sooner be able to discover their special talents and inclinations. There are also certain private considerations that have weight with parents in sending their children to board away from home, which I leave to their private thoughts, as I reserve some to my own. If the master have charge only of the scholars who board with him, and can himself do all that is necessary for the best education, and the numbers be moderate enough to allow of considerable progress, then I know of no more favourable circumstances, if the size, situation, and convenience of his house, and other necessary conditions are all suitable. But while he is thinking only of his boarders’ advancement, some slow-paying parents will be sure to keep him lean, if he look not well to it, and his fortunes will not flourish, or at least the risks will cause him continual anxiety. Parents have a different eye to their children’s comfort when they are at a boarding-school, and are ready to complain of many things that are made of no account at home. And if sickness or death should come, the worst construction is put upon it, as if death did not know where the parent dwells. And though the master should have done not only what he was formally bound to do, but even more than he could have done for his own child, yet all that is nothing. Wherefore, as parents must think of the objection on their side to sending out their children to board, so masters on their part must beware of admitting them to their own injury. Indeed, my own opinion is that it is quite enough for a master to undertake the education alone. If parents do not live near enough to the school, they should board their children elsewhere than with the master. They are distinct offices, to be a parent and a teacher, and the difficulties of upbringing are too serious for all the responsibilities to be thrown into the hands of one alone.

Of the places of elementary education there is not much to say, as the masters supply rooms as large as they can, considering the fees that the parents are willing to pay, and the little people who attend these schools are not as yet capable of any great exercise. The Grammar Schools require more attention, because the years that are, or at least ought to be, spent there are the most important both for developing the body and for framing the mind and character. Here the pupils are most subject to the master’s direction, and provision is made for them not only out of the parents’ resources, but also from public endowment, so far as the buildings are concerned. As the elementary schools must be near the parents’ homes on account of the youth of the scholars, they must often be in the middle of cities and towns, but I could wish that the Grammar Schools were planted in the outskirts and suburbs, near to the fields, where partly by enclosing some private ground for regular exercises both in the open and under cover, and partly by utilising the open fields for rambles of wider range, there might be little or no feeling of restriction in the matter of space. There should be a good airy schoolroom above for the languages, and another below for others studies and for continuing and completing the elementary training, which will not be well enough kept up if it is left to private practice at home. There must also be suitable accommodation for the master and his family, even if they be pretty numerous, and there should be a convenient play-ground adjoining the school, walled round and having at least a quarter of the space covered over like a cloister, for the children’s exercise in rainy weather. All this will require no mean purse, but surely there is wealth enough in private possession, if there were will enough to endow public education. Yet we have no great cause to complain in regard to the number of schools and founders, for already during the time of Her Majesty’s most fortunate reign there have been more schools erected than existed before her time in the whole kingdom. I would rather have fewer and have them better appointed for the master’s accommodation and for general convenience. A small amount of help will make most of our rooms serve, and enable our teachers to give instruction and carry on the exercises under satisfactory conditions. The places for study and for exercise ought to adjoin each other, and be capable of holding considerable numbers, to be determined by the needs of the surrounding district. The schools that I know are mostly well placed already, or if they are in the heart of towns, they could be easily exchanged for some country situation, far from disturbances yet near enough to all necessary conveniences. It would be a very useful part of a great and good foundation if it provided for the removal of rooms to more suitable places, either by exchange or by new purchase, and I think licence would more readily be granted for this purpose than to build new schools. I am all the more impelled to recommend a country situation on account of the inconveniences that I have myself experienced, both in regard to my own health and that of my scholars, and the lack of facilities for the exercises on which I lay so much store. Yet I am by no means the worst off in this respect, owing to the zeal and generosity shown in the provision made by the Worshipful Company of Merchant Taylors in London, in whose school I have now served for twenty years, the first and only headmaster since its foundation. If ye consider what is to be done in these rooms which I desire, ye shall better judge what rooms will serve. Two rooms will be sufficient for the language study and the continuation of the elementary course, an upper room with proper arrangements for ventilation and the prevention of too much noise, and another similarly fitted up underneath to serve for what else is to be done. I could wish that we had fewer schools and that they were more efficient; it would be well if on careful consideration of the most convenient centres throughout the country, many of the existing schools could be put together to make a few good ones. To conclude this matter, I wish the rooms to be commodious, for though such studies as reading require small elbow-room, writing and drawing must not be straitened, nor music either, and physical exercises especially must have ample scope. And such rooms, if the numbers are not too large, if the distance is not too great for the young children, will with some distinction and separation of places serve conveniently both for the elementary school and the grammar school, which is so much the better.

I think it is not good to begin study immediately after rising, or just after meals, or to continue right up to the time of going to bed. From 7 to 10 in the forenoon, and from 2 till almost 5 in the afternoon are the most fitting hours, and quite enough for children to be learning. The morning hours will serve best for memory work and what requires mental effort; the afternoon for going over again the material that has been already acquired. The other times before meals are for exercise. The hours after meals and before study is resumed, are to be given to resting the body and refreshing the mind, without too much movement. To conclude, we must make the best of those places and hours that are at present appointed, and yet be prepared to adopt better arrangements, as soon as it shall please God to send them. And by persuasion some teachers may be able to bring wise parents to try changes in the direction I have pointed out. In the meantime some excellent man, having the advantage of a well-situated house, and being independent of outside help and able to control his own arrangements, may be prepared to make useful experiments.

The Elementary school is left to the lowest and the worst class of teacher, because good scholars will not abase themselves to it. The first grounding should be undertaken by the best teacher, and his reward should be the greatest, because his work demands most energy and most judgment, and competent men could easily be induced to enter these lower ranks if they found that sufficient reward were offered. It is natural enough for ignorant people to make little of the early training, when they see how little consideration is paid to it, but men of judgment know how important the foundation is, not only as regards the matter that is taught, but the manner of handling the child’s intelligence, which is of great moment. But to say something concerning the teacher’s reward, which is the encouragement to good teaching, what is the sense in increasing the salary as the child grows in learning? Is it to cause the master to take greater pains, and bring his pupil better forward in view of the promise of what is to come? Nay, surely that cannot be. Present payment would be a greater inducement to bring pupils forward than the hope in promise, for in view of the variety and inconstancy of parents’ minds, what assurance is there that the child will continue with the same master? That he who took great pains for little gain should receive more for less trouble? Besides, if the reward were good he would hasten to gain more through the supply of new scholars, who would be attracted by the report of his diligent and successful work. As things are, the master who gets the pupils later reaps the benefit of the elementary teacher’s labour, because the child makes more show with him. Why should this be so? It is the foundation well and soundly laid that makes all the upper building secure and lasting. I can only give counsel, but if the decision lay with me the first pains well taken should in truth be most liberally recompensed, and the emolument should diminish, as less pains are needed in going up through the school course. By this method no master would have reason to complain that the pupils who come to him have not been sufficiently grounded in the elementary subjects, which is a constant source of trouble at present both to teachers and scholars. Indeed too often we Grammar School masters can hardly make any progress, can scarcely even tell how to place the raw boys in any particular form with any hope of steady advance, so rotten is the groundwork of their preparation. If the higher master has to repair this weakness, after the boy comes under his charge, he certainly deserves triple salary, both for his own making and for mending what the elementary teacher either marred through ignorance, or failed to make through undue haste, which, in my opinion, is the commonest and worst kind of marring. As for the salaries of the masters that succeed the elementary, I hold that the increasing numbers that they can undertake will make up for the larger amount to be given to the elementary teacher, however much that may be. For the first master can deal only with a few, the next with more, and so on, ascending as the scholars grow in reason and discretion. To deal with the unequal advancement of children, it were good that they were promoted in numbers together, and that they were admitted into the schools only at four periods in the year, so that they might be properly classified, and not hurled hand over head into one form without discrimination, as is now too often the case. There should be a definite plan of promotion agreed upon among the teachers, so that one can say, “This child I have taught, and such and such can he do,” and the other knoweth what the child should have been taught, and what he may be supposed to know. The elementary teacher, then, should be competent for his task, and when he is, he should be sufficiently well provided for by the parents. Adequate reward would make very able men incline to take it up, and though the supply may as yet be insufficient, enough could soon be trained if inducement were offered.

My chief concern must be with the master of the Grammar School, who cannot be too carefully selected, for he has to deal with those years which determine the success of all the future course, as during this period both body and mind are most restless and most in need of regulation. He has to complete the learning gained in the elementary studies, and he offers hope or despair of perfection to the University tutor in the case of their proceeding further.

For this class of teacher also I must ask for sufficient maintenance in consideration of their competence and faithful work. For it is a great discouragement to an able man to take diligent pains when he finds his whole day’s work insufficient to furnish him with the necessary provision. Experience hath taught me that where the master’s salary is made to rise and fall with the numbers of his pupils, he will exert himself most, and the children will profit most, provided he have no more than he can manage himself without hazarding his own credit and the pupils’ welfare by trusting to independent assistants. The proper use of assistants is not as we now see it in schools, where ushers are their own masters, but to help the headmaster in the easier part of his duties. If the master’s salary is fixed by agreement at a definite sum, then he should not be given too large numbers to deal with, nor should he be obliged to eke out his income in other ways outside his profession. It is unreasonable to demand a man’s whole time, and yet make such scant payment that he has to look elsewhere, outside the school, to add to it. Among many causes that make our schools inefficient, I know none so serious as the weakness of the profession owing to the bareness of the reward. The good that cometh by schools is infinite; the qualities required in the teacher are many and great; the charges which his friends have been at in his bringing up are heavy; yet he has but little to hope for in the way of preferment. Our calling creeps low, and has pain for a companion, always thrust to the wall, though always formally admitted to be worthy. Our comfort must be in the general conclusion that those are good things which want no praising, though they go a-cold for lack of cherishing.

But ye will perhaps say—what shall this man be able to perform whom you are so anxious to have suitably maintained, and to whose charge the youth of our country is to be committed? Surely that charge is great, and if he is to discharge it well, he must be well qualified for it, and ought to be very well requited for doing it so well. Besides his manner and behaviour, which must be beyond cavil, and his skill in exercising the body, he must be able to teach the three learned tongues, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, if these are required. And in these a mediocrity of knowledge is not enough, for he who means to plant even a little well, must himself far exceed mediocrity. He must be able to understand his author, to correct misprints, the mistakes of unskilful dictionaries, and the foolish comments of superficial writers on the matter he is teaching, and he must be so well furnished before he begins to teach that he can express himself readily, and not have to be learning as he goes along, distracting his scholars by his hesitations. Time and experience will do much to polish the manner of teaching, but there must be knowledge of the matter from the first. He must be acquainted with all the best grammars, so that he can always add notes by the way, though not of course to the burdening of the children’s memory. Besides these and other points of learning, he must have determination to take pains, perseverance to continue in his work without shrinking, discretion to judge of circumstances, cheerfulness to delight in the success of his labour, sympathy to encourage a promising youth, hopefulness to think every child an Alexander, and courteous lowliness in his opinion of himself. For even the smallest thing in learning will be well done only by him who knows most, and by reason of his store of knowledge is able to perform his task with pleasure and ease. These qualities deserve much, and are not often found in our schools, because the rewards of labour are so insufficient, but they would soon be had if the maintenance were adequate.

If the rewards of the teaching profession were sufficient to attract good students, the way to make them well fitted to deserve these rewards would be to arrange for their being trained at the Universities. I touch upon this matter with some hesitation, for it would involve some changes that might not be easily compassed, but if the very name of change is to be avoided, no improvements could ever take place, and though my proposals may raise objections at first, I believe that the more they are considered the more they will commend themselves, as well to the University authorities as to all others concerned. By the means I am about to suggest, not only schoolmasters, but all other members of the learned professions, would be better fitted on leaving the University to perform what is expected of them in the service of the commonwealth. I would have it understood that I have no great fault to find with the present constitution of the Universities, but granting that things are well done there already, there is no discourtesy in wishing that they might be managed a good deal better.

My idea rests on four points;

Would not the country benefit by these measures? And hath not the State authority to carry them out, seeing that it hath already given its sanction to the making of foundations, with a reservation of the right to alter them if sufficient cause should be shown? Is it not as admissible to discuss the improvement of the Universities by planting sound learning, as to decide upon taking away lands from colleges, and boarding out the students, because they cannot agree among themselves about the use of the endowments? Would there be any better means of giving a new and fairer aspect to the work of the Universities, and of bringing them into greater favour with the public? In the first erection of schools and colleges, private zeal inflamed good founders; in altering these for the better, the State, for considerations of public interest, may increase the advantage, without departing from the intention of the founders, who would have gladly welcomed any improvement. It is for each age under the spur of necessity to point out what is best for its own circumstances, and the State must exercise its wisdom and policy in bringing this about. I will now take up more fully the four points I have named, in the hope of offering reasons that may prove convincing.

Would it not be convenient and profitable if there were one college where nothing was professed but languages, to be thoroughly acquired as a means to further study within the university, and to public service outside? That being the professed end, and nothing else being dealt with there, would not a high standard of sufficiency be the better reached through general agreement? And would not daily conference and continuous application in the same subject be likely to secure efficiency? As it is now, when everyone deals confessedly with everything, no one can say with certainty, “Thus much can such a one do in this particular thing,” but he either speaks by conjecture that may often deceive even the speaker, or else out of courtesy which as often beguiles those who hear and believe. For where all exercises, conferences, and conversations, both public and private, are on the same subject, because the soil bringeth forth no other stuff, there must needs follow great perfection. When the tongues are thus separated from other learning, it will soon appear what a difference there is between him who can only speak and him who can do more. No subject can be more necessary than languages in university training. For the tongues being the receptacles of matter, without a perfect understanding of them what hope is there of understanding matter? And seeing words are the names of things, applied and given according to their properties, how can things be properly understood by us, who make use of words to know them by, unless the force of speech is thoroughly understood? I do see in writers and hear in speakers great defects in the mistaking of meanings, and evident errors through insufficiency in the study of language. Such study should be well advanced by the Grammar School, but it needs to be brought to greater perfection than it can be there. And it may be that some, wishing only a general culture, will be content to rest in this literary faculty, taking delight in the writings of the poets and historians, and not passing on to any professional study.

I would have another college devoted to the Mathematical Sciences, though I shall be opposed by some of good intelligence, who not knowing the force of these faculties because they considered them unworthy of study, as not leading to preferment, are accustomed to mock at mathematical heads. Such studies require concentration, and demand a type of mind that does not seek to make public display until after mature contemplation in solitude. It is this silent meditation on the part of the true students, or the appearance of it in those that are but counterfeits, that layeth them open to the mockery of some, who should rather forbear if they will remember in what high esteem those sciences were held by Socrates, and by Plato, who forbad anyone to enter his Academy that was ignorant of Geometry. For the men who profess these sciences and bring them into disrepute are either quite ignorant and maintain their credit by the use of certain terms and technical expressions without ever getting at the kernel, or they are such as having some knowledge occupy themselves with the trivial and sophistical and illusive parts of the subject, rather than with its true uses in the advancement of the arts. But in spite of the contempt which is thus often brought on the Mathematical Sciences, I will venture to give my opinion in defence of their value. In time all learning may be brought into one tongue, and that naturally understood by all, so that schooling for tongues may prove needless, just as once they were not needed; but it can never fall out that arts and sciences in their essential nature shall be anything but most necessary for every commonwealth that is not utterly barbarous. We attribute too much to tongues, in paying more heed to them than we do to matter, and esteem it more honourable to speak finely than to reason wisely. After all, words are praised only for the time, but wisdom wins in the end.

The Mathematical Sciences show themselves in many professions and trades which do not bear the titles of learning, whereby it is well seen that they are really profitable; they do not make much outward show, but our daily life benefits greatly by them. It is no just objection to ask, “What should merchants, carpenters, masons, shipmasters, mariners, surveyors, architects, and other such do with learning? Do they not serve the country’s needs well enough without it?” Though they may do well without it, might they not do better with it? The speaking of Latin is no necessary proof of deeper learning, but Mathematics are the first rudiments for young children, and the sure means of direction for all skilled workmen, who without such knowledge can only go by rote, but with it might reach genuine skill. The sciences that we term ‘mathematical’ from their very nature always achieve something good, intelligible even to the unlearned, by number, figure, sound, or motion. In the manner of their teaching also they plant in the mind of the learner a habit of resisting the influence of bare probabilities, of refusing to believe in light conjectures, of being moved only by infallible demonstrations. Mathematics had its place before the tongues were taught, which though they are now necessary helps, because we use foreign languages for the conveyance of knowledge, yet push us one degree further off from knowledge.

The third college should be devoted to Philosophy in all its three kinds, each of which forms a preparation for a particular profession—Natural Philosophy for Medicine, Political Philosophy for Law, and Moral Philosophy for Divinity. But in this distribution some will ask, “Where do Logic and Rhetoric come in?” I would ask in reply, “What is the place of Grammar?” It is the preparative to language. In the same way, Logic on the side of demonstration takes the part of Grammar for the Mathematical Sciences and Natural Philosophy, and in its consideration of probabilities fills the same place for Moral and Political Philosophy. Rhetoric helps the writer to attain purity of style without emotion, and the speaker to use persuasion with an appeal to the feelings, though sometimes, indeed, the latter deals only in argument, while the former may wax hot over his writing. As to the proper order of these studies, we are accustomed to set young students to Moral and Political Philosophy first, but we should rather follow Aristotle in placing Natural Philosophy next to the Mathematical Sciences, because it is more intelligible for young heads on account of its deductive reasoning, whereas Moral and Political Philosophy, being subject to particular circumstances in life, should be reserved for riper years.

The three professions above mentioned—Medicine, Law, and Divinity—should each be endowed with its particular College and livings, instead of having its students scattered. To have the physician thus learned is not too much to ask, considering that his proficiency depends on his knowledge, and with him ignorance is simply butchery. As for Law, if the whole study were reduced into one body, would our country have any cause to complain? Would she not rather have great reason to be very glad? We have now three several professions in Law, as if we were a three-headed State, one English and French, another Roman Imperial, and the third Roman Ecclesiastical, whereas English alone were simply best. The distraction of temporal, civil, and canon law is in many ways very injurious to our country. There can be no question that it is good for the divine to have time to study the sciences that are the handmaids to his profession.

But is it advisable that those wishing to enter the professions should have to go through all the colleges that offer a general preparatory training,—the colleges for Languages, Mathematics, and Philosophy? No one could doubt this, except such as are ready to think themselves ripe, while they are still raw in the opinion of other men. He that will be perfect in his profession ought at least to have a contemplative knowledge of all that goes before. It will be for the gain of the community that while the student’s youth is wedded to honest and learned meditation, the heat of that stirring age is cooled, which might set all on fire to the public harm; ripe judgment is gained, and all ambitious passions are made subject to self-control. Till young men who are coming forward to the professions are made to tarry longer and study more soundly, learning shall have no credit, and our country cannot but suffer. It may be asked: “What hath a divine to do with Mathematics?” Well, was not Moses trained in all the learning of the Egyptians? How can the divine presume to judge and condemn sciences of which he knows nothing but the name? And has not the lawyer to deal with many questions that require a knowledge of the sciences? The physician more than all should see that his professional skill is supported by a wide general study.

There will be some difficulty in winning a college for those who will afterwards pass to teach in schools. There is no specialising for any profession till the student leaves the College of Philosophy, from which he will go to Medicine, Law, or Divinity. This is the time also when the intending schoolmaster should begin his special training. In him there is as much learning necessary as, with all deference to their subjects, is required by any of the other three professions, especially if it be considered how much the teacher hath to do in preparing scholars for all other careers. Why should not these men have this competence in learning, to be chosen for the common service? Are children and schools so small an element in our commonwealth? Is the framing of young minds and the training of their bodies a matter of so little skill? Are schoolmasters in this realm so few that they need not be taken account of? Whoever will not allow of this careful provision for such a seminary of teachers is most unworthy either to have had a good master himself, or to have a good one hereafter for his children. Why should not teachers be well provided for, so that they can continue their whole life in the school, as divines, lawyers, and physicians do in their several professions? If this were the case, judgment, knowledge, and discretion would grow in them as they get older, whereas now the school, being used but for a shift, from which they will afterwards pass to some other profession, though it may send out competent men to other careers, remains itself far too bare of talent, considering the importance of the work. I consider therefore that in our universities there should be a special college for the training of teachers, inasmuch as they are the instruments to make or mar the growing generation of the country, and because the material of their studies is comparable to that of the greatest professions, in respect of language, judgment, skill in teaching, variety of learning, wherein the forming of the mind and the exercising of the body require the most careful consideration, to say nothing of the dignity of character which should be expected from them.

Surely there is nothing unreasonable in proposing that these seven colleges should be set up, and should have the names of the things they profess—Languages, Mathematics, Philosophy, Education, Medicine, Law, and Divinity. If it had been so arranged from the beginning, public opinion would now have commended the policy and wisdom of those that originated it. And can we not bring about still what, if it had been done at first, would have met with such honour, and will deserve everlasting memory, at whatever time it may be done? Greater changes have been both desired and accomplished in our time. All that is needful for doing it well is ready to our hand: the material is there; the lands have neither to be begged nor purchased; they have already been acquired and given, and can easily be brought into order, especially as this is a time of reform. As for putting students of similar age and studies into the same house, it is desirable on many grounds, but particularly because it encourages emulation among those who are best fitted to compete with each other.

In saying that colleges should be combined, so as to permit the bettering of students’ livings, I shall have the support at least of those who are now willing to change their college for a fatter living, or even to abandon the university altogether for their own advantage. At present college livings are certainly too lean, and force good wits to fly before they are well feathered. A better maintenance would give more time and opportunity for study, and thus secure a higher standard of learning, greater ripeness of judgment, and more solidity of character. Students would be made more independent, and would not have to come under obligations by accepting support from other quarters. The restriction in the number of livings would be no objection, as it would shut out those less qualified to profit by them, and thus raise the level of attainment. It were better for the country to have a few well trained and sufficiently provided for, than an unlearned multitude. Moreover, it is not consonant with the liberal nature of learning either that it should be unnecessarily dependent on charity, or that it should in this way come under the control of those who may act rather from personal considerations than regard to the common welfare. Where learning grows up by props it loses its true character; it is best when the stem can itself bear up the branches. The outward conditions for the furtherance of learning are the selection of scholars on grounds of ability and promise, and sufficient time and maintenance for their due preparation; the qualities required for the student himself are diligence and discretion to profit fully by his opportunities.

The last reform which I am ready to contend for is that there should be University readers appointed, of mature years, accredited learning and secure position, who should direct and control the studies of the students. Private study alone can never be compared with the opportunity of working under one who has read and digested all the best books in the subject, whose judgment has been formed by his wide reading, and whose experience and intercourse with many intellects has given him skill and address. The student who has not this advantage will gain less with greater pains, since he could in one lecture have the benefit of his reader’s universal study, put in such a form that he can use it at once. Such readers would save their cost in books alone, which would not then be so needful to the student. They could be appointed with little or no cost to the universities, and if they carried on their work in convenient houses of their own, they would undoubtedly draw as many students to their private establishments as there are now in the public colleges.

Hasty pressing onward is the greatest enemy that anything can have, whose best is to ripen at leisure. I have appointed in my elementary teaching—Reading, Writing, Drawing, Singing, Playing. Now if these are imperfectly acquired when the child is sent to the Grammar School, what an error is committed! How many small infants have we sent to Grammar who can scarcely read, and how many to learn Latin who never wrote a letter! Even though some youngster could do much better than all his companions, it were no harm for him to be captain a good while in his elementary school, rather than to be a common soldier in a school where all are captains. Many and serious are the evils that are caused by such hasting, and if deploring them could amend them, I would lament that they are so numerous and so hard to remedy. How common is the lack of proper grounding in children, and how great is the foolishness of their friends in regard to it! This is the chief cause that at once makes children loth to learn, and schoolmasters seem harsh in their teaching. For as the master hastens on to the natural aim of his profession, and the scholar draws back, being unable to bear the burden, there rises in the master an irritation which can only be controlled by the wisdom and patience that are the fruits of experience. And as in the teacher irritation breeds heat, so in the scholar weakness breeds fear, and so much the more if he finds his master somewhat too impatient, wherefore neither the one nor the other can do much good at all. Whereas if the boy had nothing to fear, how eager he would be, and what a pleasure the teacher would take in his aptness to learn! But even if the child’s weakness is felt both by himself and by his teacher, it is difficult to get the parent to believe in it, owing to the blindness of his affection, and he will prefer to seek out some other teacher who will adopt his views, and undertake the task. Thus change feeds his humour for the time, though he will afterwards repent his folly, when the defect proves incurable, and the first master is at last admitted to have been a true prophet. So necessary a thing is it to prevent ills in time, and when warning is given not to laugh it to scorn nor blame the watchman.

If the imperfections which come more from haste than from ignorance did not go beyond the elementary school, the harm done might be redressed, but as one billow driveth on another, so haste, beginning there, makes the other successions in learning move on at too headlong a pace. Is it only to the Grammar School that children are sent too early? Are there none sent to the University who, when they come out of it years afterwards, might with advantage return to the Grammar School again? Do not some of good intelligence find in the course of their study the evil effects of too great haste at the beginning, and wish too late that they had been better advised? And even if they make up what they have missed, do they not find it true that a process which may be pleasant enough to young boys is full of pain for older people? The Universities can best judge of the weaknesses of our Grammar Schools when they find the defects of those youths whom they receive from us, though they were not sent by us. We see these defects ourselves, but we cannot remedy them, for the partiality of parents over-rules all reason, and when the pupil is removed all conference with the teacher is cut off. In some places the multitude of schools mars the whole market, giving too great opportunity for change, generally for the worse, so that by degrees the elementary scholar enfeebles the Grammar School boy, and he in turn transporteth his weakness from his schoolmaster to his university tutor. So important is it to avoid haste at the first, lest it cause injury to the last.

Are not youths often sent into the world, who may receive consideration on account of their degrees, but deserve none for their learning? If men did not judge sensibly that young shoots must be green, however good an appearance they may make, youth might deceive them with its titles, as it deceives itself with conceit. The causes of haste are—impatience, which can abide no tarrying when a restless conceit is overladen; the desire of liberty, to live as he pleases, because he pleases not to live as he should; arrogance, making him wish to appear a person of importance; hope of preferment, urging him to desire dignities before the ability to support them. In the meanwhile the common welfare is sacrificed to personal advantage, and even that advantage is in appearance and not in reality. The canker that consumeth all, and causeth all this evil, is haste, an ill-advised, rash, and headstrong counsellor, that is most pernicious when there is either some appearance of ripeness in the child, or some unwise encouragement from a teacher who is without true discernment. It is time that perfecteth all; it is the mother of truth, the touchstone of ripeness, the enemy of error, the true support and help of man.

When the child can read so readily and confidently that the length of his lesson gives him no trouble; when he can write so neatly and so fast that he finds no kind of exercise tedious; when his pen or pencil gives him only pleasure; when his music, both vocal and instrumental, is so far forward that a little voluntary practice may keep it up and even improve it; then the elementary course has lasted long enough. The child’s ordinary exercises in the Grammar School will continue his reading and writing and he will always be drawing of his own accord, because it delighteth his eye, and busieth not his brain. His music, however, must be encouraged by the pleasure taken in it by the teacher and his parents, for in those early years children are musical rather for others’ benefit than for their own. It is certain that in tarrying long enough to bring all these things to perfection there is no real loss of time, especially seeing that these attainments, even if they go no further, make a pretty adornment to a household if they be thoroughly acquired.

A great and learned man of our day, Philip Melancthon, thought so much of the troublesome and toilsome life which we teachers lead that he wrote an interesting book on the miseries of schoolmasters. We have to thank him for his good-will; but as there is no kind of life, be it high or low, that has not its own share of troubles, we need not be overwhelmed by a sense of our special difficulties. Our profession is certainly more arduous than most; but, on the other hand, not many have such opportunities of doing good service. There is little profit, however, in such comparisons. To what purpose should I show why the teacher blames one thing, the parent another, the child nothing but the rod which he is so prone to deserve? So apt are we to repine at the pain we suffer, without weighing the offence which deserved it. I will rather proceed to deal with the remedies for what he calls “miseries,” but I would prefer to term inconveniences, with which the teaching profession has to contend in our own time. The counsel I offer, though referring specially to the youngest scholars, may well be carried further and applied to the oldest and most advanced in any course of learning. The remedies I take to be two—uniformity of method, which would secure economy both of time and expense, and the establishment of public school regulations, made clearly known to all concerned, which would prevent misunderstandings between teachers and parents or scholars.

No one who has either taught, or has been taught himself, can fail to recognise that there is too much variety in teaching, and therefore too much bad teaching, for in the midst of many by-paths there is but one right way. This is proved by the differences of opinion that men show, due to better or worse training in youth, to greater or less application to study, to longer or shorter continuance at their books, to their liking or disliking some particular kind of learning, and many other similar causes, which may lead ignorance to vaunt itself with all the authority that belongs to sound knowledge. The diversity of groundwork which lies at the root of so much confusion of judgment is a great hindrance to youth and a discredit to schools, and causes serious inequalities in the universities. It may happen that a weak teacher by some accident brings up a strong scholar, and that an abler man owing to some ordinary hindrance makes little show for his labour. But if variety had given place to uniformity, even the weakest teacher might have done very well, if he had the intelligence to follow the directions put before him.

This defect has often been deplored by our best teachers, who have nevertheless shrunk from the task of supplying the remedy. If a uniform system could be agreed upon, all the youth of this whole realm will seem to have been brought up in one school, and under one master, both in regard to the matter and to the manner of their teaching, while differing in their own invention, which is individual by nature, though it may be trained by general rules of art. Such a measure must needs bring profit to the learner by saving him from the chances of going astray, ease to the teacher by lightening his labour, honour to the country by providing a store of good material, and immortal renown to the enlightened sovereign who should confer so great a benefit. Though agreement in a uniform method must be enforced by authority, it must be based on some likeness of ability in teachers in regard to their own specialty, though they may differ much in the manner of applying it and in other qualities. Now the only way to procure this equal standard of efficiency, where natural differences are so great, is to lay down in some definite scheme what seems best, both as to what and as to how to teach, with all the particular circumstances that may apply to the best-ordered schools not beyond the reach of the indifferent teacher, yet such as to satisfy the more skilful. Thus diligence on the part of the less able may even effect more than the greater learning of the other, who may become negligent or insolent from over-confidence. If I am not mistaken, there are good reasons for holding that it is better for the commonwealth to provide some direction for the ordinary teacher who will continue in his profession the greater part of his life and have many chances of doing good, than to leave it at random to the liberty of the more learned, who commonly make use of teaching only to shift with for a time, and are but pilgrims in the profession, always thinking of removing to some easier or more profitable kind of life. Scholars cannot profit much when their teachers act like strangers, who, intending some day to return to their own country, cannot have that zealous care which the native showeth, and though conscience may sometimes cause an honest man to work well and do his duty in this temporary position, such cases can be only exceptional, and general provision must be for the leading of the weaker, who will always need it.

If when this scheme for settling the matter and the manner of teaching is set down, those who have to carry it out prove negligent, and delay or even defeat the good effects, by their ill-advised handling of what was well meant, the overseers and patrons of schools must bring pressure to bear on such teachers, of their own motion if they can, and if they cannot, then by the assistance of learned men who are competent to act, and who out of courtesy will help to further the end in view. Our precepts are general; the application must be made according to the circumstances of particular cases. I have only roughly indicated the purpose of uniformity in teaching, and the disjointing of skill by misordered variety, yet who is so blind as not to discern that the one removes the evils caused by the other, and thereby relieves the schools of many hindrances? Rapid progress in learning would at once follow, through the choice of the best and fittest authors from the first, the use of exercises adapted to the advancement of the child, and the teacher’s orderly procedure in general. By this means the scholar would not learn anything he ought to forget, or leave anything needful unlearned, through the ill-advised counsel of his teacher, and the teacher on his part would be saved from hurrying on too fast, or dwelling too long on one thing. The best course being hit upon at the first, as may be generally appointed, one thing helpeth another forward naturally, without forcing; what is first taught maketh way for what must follow next, and continual use will let nothing be forgotten which is once well got, and the gradual advance in learning will succeed in proportion, without loss of time or unnecessary labour either through lingering too long or hurrying on too fast. This result cannot possibly be brought about at present, while things are left to the discretion of teachers, of whom the most are not specially enlightened, and even the very best cannot always hit upon the most fruitful methods, and while the customary education is held as a sanction, alteration even for the better considered a heresy, and approval determined by personal prejudice. I do not touch upon any hindrances that cannot easily be removed, if the matter be taken in hand by authority; difficulties that belong to special circumstances must be dealt with at another time.

The lack of uniformity is clearly shown when children change both schools and teachers; either the new master thinks it some discredit to himself to begin where the old one left off, or disapproves of the choice that the previous teacher had made, or seeks to exalt himself by finding fault with the other, or else the arrangement of his school does not admit of a regular progression, every school having a plan of its own. Sometimes the boy not being properly grounded, either through the ignorance of his teachers or his own negligence, cannot easily be influenced for the better, or led to give up his own conceit of himself, and this generally happens when the parents are unreasonable and think their child disgraced if he is “put back,” as the phrase is, whereas in reality he is bid only to look back, to see that which he never saw and ought to have seen very thoroughly. This cause of disorder, proceeding from the parents, affecteth us all, causing great weakness and much failure of classification in the forms of our schools, whereas if there were a uniform order fixed by authority, however often the child may change, his advancement is easily tested, and the parents will have no pretext for discontent, when they see that the matter is fixed by public provision, and that there is no room for private partiality. At present the only thing that is uniform in our schools is the common grammar set forth by authority, the use of which confirms the opinion I have expressed, as regards both the policy of adopting it from the beginning, and the advantage of having something definitely decided to which we are all bound to agree. Whether the book now in use may be retained with some amendment, or should give place to one with a better method, is a matter for consideration, for all such books, serving for direction, must be fashioned to the matter which they seem to direct by rule and precept, existing as they do, not for their own sake, but as a means to an end. The experience of having a common grammar proves the value of uniformity, but it remains a matter of controversy whether it is itself the best possible grammar.

The second advantage of uniformity is the saving of expense. While it is left to the teacher’s liberty to make his own choice, both as to what book he shall use and what method he shall adopt, what with the variety of judgment and inequality of learning in teachers, which may be unified by authority, but will never be by consent, the parents’ purses are heavily taxed and poor men are sorely pinched. This is brought about both by the change of books, the master often reversing his former choice, and also by their number, every book being commended to the buyer which either maketh a fair show to be profitable, or is otherwise solicited to the sale owing to the need for disposing of an over-supply. Whatever is needful to be used in schools may be very well comprised in a small compass; one small volume may be compounded of the marrow of many, and the change need not be great. Nor yet hereby is any injury done to good writers, whose books may very well tarry for the ripeness of the reader, and the place that is due to them in the ordinary ascent of learning and study, according to their value and degree, so that they may win praise for their authors from those who are able to judge, and may bring profit to the student when he is able to understand and remember them.

In our Grammar Schools we profess to teach the tongues, or rather to make a beginning with teaching them. Every subject that is treated in any tongue supplies the student with the terms that belong to it, which are most easily got up in connection with the matter. If, then, the scholar of the Grammar School be taught to write, speak, and understand readily in some well-chosen subject, the school has performed its duty in doing even so much, though the boy may not know all, or even most, of the words in the language, which is a matter for further study. Those that assign their tasks to Grammar School teachers recommend historians and poets, though they make some distinction of writers according to the tendency of their matter and the purity of their style. But what time is there in our schools to run over all these, or even to deal with a few of them thoroughly? Would it not be more creditable to our profession, and more convenient for the parents, to have a selection carefully made and printed by itself? And should not the most important books be left over to be taken in connection with the particular callings to which they refer? Let those who are gifted with imagination make a special study of the poets, and those who take most interest in the records of memorable deeds devote themselves to history. If men of greater learning have leisure and desire to read, they may use histories for pleasure as an after-dinner study, neither trying the brain nor proving tedious, since they cannot generally be accepted as a basis of judgment, because ignorance of the circumstances causes a difficulty in applying conclusions. They may also run through the poets when they are disposed to laugh, and to behold what bravery enthusiasm inspireth. For when poets write soberly and plainly, without attempting any illusion, they can scarcely be called poets, though they write in verse, but only when they cover a truth with a veil of fancy, and transfigure the reality. We should therefore cull out some of the best and most suitable for our introductory course, and leave all the rest for special students, and that not in the poets and histories alone, but also in all other books that are now admitted into our schools. Some very excellent passages, most eloquently and forcibly penned for the polishing of good manners and inducement to virtue, may be picked out of some of the poets, and from none more than Horace. But heed must be taken that we do not plant any poetic fury in the child’s disposition. For that impetuous imagination, where it already exists, is in itself too wayward, though it be not helped forward, and where it is not present it should in no case be forced. As for other writers, regard must be paid to the number and choice of their words, the smoothness and propriety of their composition, and the solid worth of their matter. Quintilian’s rule is the best, and should always be observed in choosing writers for children to learn, to pick out such as will feed the intelligence with the best material, and refine the tongue with the most polished style, so that we avoid alike trivial and unsuitable matter, however eloquently set forth, and what is rudely expressed, however weighty and wise it may be, reserving only those passages where the good tendency and intelligibility of the subject are clothed and honoured with refined and fitting language.

I intend myself, by the grace of God, to bestow some pains on this task, if I see any hope of my labour being encouraged. If any one else will take the matter up I am ready to stand aside and rejoice in his success; if none other will, then I trust my country will bear with me when I offer my dutiful service in so necessary a case. If any one of higher position should be inclined to resent my action, I must appeal to the public judgment, yet if such a one does not step forth and prove his own skill, he cannot complain if another speaks while he is silent. I crave the gentle and friendly construction of such as be learned, or love learning, and if I should have the misfortune to dissatisfy any in my work, I will do my best to improve it.

The second remedy for the difficulties of teachers is to set forth the school regulations in a public place, where they may be easily seen and read, and to leave as little as possible uncertain which the parent ought to know, and out of which dissatisfaction may arise. For if at the first entry the parent agree to those arrangements which he sees set forth, so that he cannot afterwards plead either ignorance or disapproval, he cannot take offence if his child be forced to keep them in the form to which he consented. Yet when all is done there may be doubt about the interpretation of the rules. Wherefore the manner of teaching, the method of promotion, the times of admission, the division of numbers, the text-books, and all those matters into which uniformity can be introduced, being already known to be fixed by authority, as I trust they will be, or at least the arrangements being set down which the schoolmaster on his own judgment intends to keep, it will further remove the chance of contention between the teacher and the parents if it be also stated what are the regular hours of work, exceptions being made in special cases, and what will be the intervals for play, which indeed is very necessary, and not as yet sufficiently taken into account.

But the teacher must above all make clear what punishments he will use, and how much, for every kind of fault that shall seem punishable by the rod. For the rod can no more be spared in schools than the sword in the hand of the Prince. By the rod I mean some form of correction, to inspire fear. If that instrument be thought too severe for boys, which was not devised by our time, but received from antiquity, I will not strive with any man in its defence, if he will leave us some means for compelling obedience where numbers have to be taught together. Even in private upbringing, if the birch is wholly banished from the home, parents cannot have their will, whatever they may say. And if in men serious faults deserve and receive severe punishment, surely children cannot escape punishments which bring proportional unhappiness. And if parents were as careful to enquire into the reasons why their child has been beaten as they are ready to be unreasonably aggrieved, they might gain a great deal more for the child’s advantage, and the child himself would lose nothing by the parent’s assurance. But commonly in such cases rashness has its recompense, the error being seen when the mischief is incurable, and repentance is useless. Beating, however, must only be for ill-behaviour, not for failure in learning, and it were more than foolish to hide all faults and offences under the name of “not learning.” What would that child be without beating, who even with it can hardly be reclaimed, whose capacity is sufficient, the only hindrance lying in his evil disposition? The aim of our schools is learning; if it fails through negligence, punish the negligence, if by any other wilful fault, punish that fault. Let the teacher make it clear what the punishment is for, and leave as little as possible to the report of the child, who will always make the best of his own case, and will be sooner believed than even the best master, especially if his mother be his counsellor, or if his father be inconstant and without judgment.

The schoolmaster must therefore have a list made out of school faults, beginning with moral offences, such as swearing, disobedience, lying, stealing, and bearing false witness, and including also minor breaches of discipline, such as truancy and unpunctuality. To each of these should be apportioned a certain number of stripes, not many but unchangeable. The master should also try to secure that the fault should be confessed, if possible, without compulsion, and the boy clearly convicted by the verdict of his schoolfellows. For otherwise children will dispute the matter vigorously, relying on credulity and partiality at home. If any of their companions be appointed monitors—and such help must be had where the master cannot always be present himself—and take them napping, they will allege spite or some private grudge. And if the master use correction, to support the authority of his lieutenants, the culprit will complain at home that he hath been beaten without cause. If the master postpone punishment, the delay will serve them to devise some way of escape, in which they can count upon home support.

To tell tales out of school, which in olden times was held to be high treason, is now commonly practised in an unworthy way. There are so many petty stratagems and devices that boys will use to save themselves that the master must be very circumspect, and leave no appearance of impunity where a penalty is really deserved. It were indeed some loss of time for learning to spend any in beating if it did not seem to make for the improvement of manners and conduct. It is passing hard to reclaim a boy in whom long impunity hath grafted a careless security, or rather a sturdy insolence; and yet friends will urge that the boy should not be beaten for fear of discouraging him, though they will have cause to regret this afterwards. It is also not good after any correction to let children dwell too long on the pain they have suffered, lest it cause too much resentment, unless the parents are wise and steadfast; and indeed that child is happy who has such parents, and who lights as well on a skilful and discreet master who acts in harmony with them. “But certainly it is most true, whatever plausible arguments may be used in a contrary sense, that the determined master who can use the rod discreetly, though he may displease some who think all punishment indiscreet when it falls on their own children, doth perform his duty best, and will always bring up the best scholars. No master of any force of character can do other than well, where the parents follow the same treatment at home which the teacher does at school, and if they disapprove of anything, will rather make a complaint to the master privately than condole with their child openly, and in so doing bring about more mischief in one direction than they can do good in any other. The same faults must be faults at home which are faults at school, and must be followed by the same consequences in both places, so that the child’s good may be considered continuously as well in correction as in commendation.”

Those who write most strongly in favour of gentleness in education reserve a place for the rod, and we who frankly face the need for severity on occasion, recommend teachers to use courtesy towards their pupils whenever it is possible. The difference is that they seem to make much of courtesy, but are forced by the position to confess the need for the rod, while we, though accepting the necessity openly, are yet more inclined to gentleness than those who make greater professions in their desire to curry favour. I would rather hazard the reproach of being a severe master in making a boy learn what may afterwards be of service to him, even though he be negligent and unwilling at the time, than that he should lack any advantage when he is older, because I failed to make him learn, owing to my vain desire to be considered a courteous teacher. A schoolmaster, if he be really wise, will either prevent his pupils from committing faults, or when they are committed, will turn the matter to the best account, but in any case he must have full discretion given to him to use severity or gentleness as he thinks best, without any appeal. But I do think gentleness and courtesy towards children more needful than beating. I have myself had thousands of pupils passing through my hands whom I never beat, because they needed it not; but if the rod had not been in sight to assure them of punishment if they acted amiss, they might have deserved it. Yet in regard to those who came next to the best, I found that I would have done better if I had used more correction and less gentleness, after carelessness had got head in them. Wherefore, I must needs say that where numbers have to be dealt with, the rod ought to rule, and even where there are few, it ought to be seen, however hard this may sound. But the master must always have a fatherly affection even for the most unsatisfactory boy, and must look upon the school as a place of amendment, where failures are bound to occur.

Where the salary is sufficient, it is well for a schoolmaster to be married, for affection towards his own children will give him a more fatherly feeling towards others, and smallness of salary will make a single man remove sooner, as he has less to carry with him. An older teacher should be more fit to govern, being more constant and free from the levity of youth, and owing to the discretion and learning which years should bring with them.

When all is done, the poor teacher must be subject to as much as the sun is, in having to shine upon all, and see much more than he can amend. His life is arduous, and therefore he should be pitied; it is clearly useful, and therefore he should be cherished; it wrestles with unthankfulness above all measure, and therefore he should be comforted with all encouragement. One displeased parent will do more harm in taking offence at some trifle, than a thousand of the most grateful will ever do good, though it be never so well deserved. Such small recompense is given for the greater pains, the very acquaintance dying out when the child leaves the school, though with confessed credit and manifest profit. But what calling is there which has not to combat with discourtesies? Patience must comfort when difficulty discourageth, and a resolute mind is a bulwark to itself.

Of all the means devised by policy and reflection to further the upbringing of children, as regards either learning or good habits, I see none comparable to these two—conference among all those who are interested in seeing children well brought up, and systematic constancy in carrying out what is so planned by general agreement, so that there shall be no changes except where circumstances demand it.

The conference of those interested in the upbringing of children may be of four kinds—between parents and neighbours, between teachers and neighbours, between parents and teachers, and between teachers and teachers. Under the term “neighbours” I include all strangers who are moved either by duty or courtesy to help in the training of children. Now if parents are willing to take counsel with such, they may learn by the experience of others how to deal with their own families. If neighbours are willing to give advice to parents when they notice anything amiss in their children, is it not honourable in them to act so honestly? And does it not show wisdom in parents to take it in a friendly spirit? And are not these children fortunate who have such solicitous helpers among their friends, and such considerate listeners at home.

This consultation may be between the neighbour and the teacher. In this the teacher must act very warily, for he has to consider what credit he may give to the informer, how far the scholar is capable of amendment, and how the parents will look at the matter. When the parent is dealing with his own child, either from his own knowledge or from accepted report, his judgment is life or death, without appeal, but when the teacher takes this office on him many objections may be made. ‘Why did you believe? Why did he meddle? Why did you act in this way?’ But if such consultation be wisely handled by all concerned, it will be a great advantage to the child to be made to feel that, wherever he is and whatever he does, if anyone sees him, his parent or his master, or both together, will also see him through the eyes of others.

As for consultation between parents and teachers, I have already said much on this head, but it is such an important matter that I can never say too much about it, because their friendly and faithful co-operation brings about perpetual obedience in the child, scorn of evil, and desire to do well. Nothing hinders this so much as credulity and partiality in the parents, when they are unable to withstand their children’s tears and pleading against some deserved punishment. Though the parents may at the time gain their point, they will find in the end that they cannot have their own will as they would like. Such consultation is of special value when the child is leaving school to proceed onward to further learning, and when there is a question of changing masters owing to some fancied grievance. In the former case, the parent by seeking the teacher’s advice can be surer of his ground. In the latter case, it may prevent loss to the child through misunderstanding. You are offended with the master, but have you conferred with him, and explained to him openly the cause of your dissatisfaction? Have you made quite sure that the fault is not in your son, or in yourself? If the master be wise, and if he hath been advisedly chosen, though he should chance to have erred, he will know how to make amends; if he be not wise, then the consultation will help to show him up, and make it certain how much trust can be put in him. I must needs say once for all that there is no public or private means that makes so much for the good upbringing of children as this conference between parents and teachers.

The last kind of consultation that I recommend is that among the members of the teaching profession, which has a good influence on education generally. Can any single person, or even a few, however skilful they may be, see the truth as clearly as a number can, in common consultation? Even in matters not concerned with learning such conference is found profitable, and where it is practised among teachers for the common good, it may have the advantage of giving forth a unanimous opinion to the public. In places where there are a number of schools within a small compass, this kind of conference can be easily secured and is very desirable.

The next condition of good upbringing is the best offspring of wise conferences, namely, certainty of direction, indicating what to do and what to learn, how to do and how to learn, when and where to do that which refines the behaviour, and to learn that which advanceth knowledge. For children, being themselves ignorant, must have system to direct them, and trainers must not devise something new every day, but should at once make definitely known what they will require from the children, and what the children may look for at their hands. This systematic regularity must be laid down and maintained in schools for learning, in the home for behaviour, and in churches for religion, because these three places are the chief resorts that children have.

In schooling it assureth the parents as to what is promised there, and how far it is likely to be performed, by informing them of the method and orders that are set down; it directeth the children as by a well-trodden path, how to come to where their journey lieth; it relieveth the master’s mind by putting his meaning and wishes into writing, and giving the results of experience in a form that can be followed as by habit without constant renewal.

As for regularity at home, I have already urged it, in wishing that parents would act so in the home that there may be conformity between their management and that of the school. By this means neither would schools have cause to complain of infection from private corruption, nor would they easily send any misdemeanour home, since the child would be sure to be sharply checked by its parents for any ill-doing. There should be the utmost regularity for children in the home, deciding for them when to rise and when to go to bed, when and how to say their morning and evening prayers, when and how to greet their parents night and morning, on leaving and on entering the house, at meat and on other occasions. Obedience to the prince and to the laws is securely grounded when private houses are so well ordered; there is little need for preaching when private training is so carefully carried out.

Regularity and order are equally needful for children when they attend the churches on holidays and festivals. All the young ones of the parish should be placed in a particular part of the church, where they can be properly supervised, none being suffered to range through the streets on any pretence, and all being in the eye of the parents and parishioners. They must further be attentive to the divine service and learn betimes to reverence the rule they will afterwards have to live by. Regularity brings present pleasure and much advantage later on, and he that is acquainted with discipline in his youth will think himself in exile if he find it not in old age. Whoever perceives and deplores the present variety in schooling, the disorder in families, and the dissoluteness in the church, will think I have not said amiss.

Yet this systematic regularity is not to be so rigid that it will not yield to discretion where a change in the circumstances demands it. As now our teaching consisteth in tongues, if some other thing at a future time seems fitter for the State, it must be adopted and given its proper place. But in making changes it is well to alter by degrees, and not overturn everything all at once. Unfortunately human nature is readier to receive a number of corrupting influences than to take pains to lessen a single evil by degrees.

Thus bold have I been with you, my good and courteous fellow-countrymen, in taking up your time with a multitude of words, whose force I know not, but whose purpose hath been to show how, in my opinion, the present great variety in teaching may be reduced to some uniformity. I have given free expression to my opinions, not because I am greatly dissatisfied with what we have, but because I often wish for what we have not, as something much better, and the rather to be wished because it might be so easily attained. I might have set forth my principles in aphoristic form, leaving commentary and recommendation to experience and time, but in the first place I do not deserve so much credit that my bare word should stand for a warrant, and in the second place I was unwilling to alienate by precise brevity those whom I might win over by argument. Wherefore I have written on all the various points enough, I think, for any reader who will be content with reason,—too much, I fear, for so evident a matter, as I believe these principles cannot be substantially contradicted. For I have grounded them upon reading, and some reasonable experience, and have applied them to the circumstances of this country, without attempting to enforce any foreign or strange device. Moreover I have tried to leaven them with common-sense, in which long teaching hath left me not entirely deficient. I do not take upon me, dictator-like, to pronounce peremptorily, but in the way of counsel to say what I have learned by long teaching, by reading somewhat, and observing more; and I must pray my fellow-countrymen so to understand me, for having been urged these many years by some of my friends to publish something, and never hitherto having ventured into print, I might seem to have let the reins of modesty run loose, if at my first attempt I should seem like a Caesar to offer to make laws. Howbeit, my years beginning to decline, and certain of my observations seeming to some folks to crave utterance, I thought it worth the hazard of gaining some men’s favour. My wishes perhaps may seem sometimes to be novelties. Novelties perhaps they are, as all amendments to the thing that needeth redress must be, but at least they are not fantastic, having their seat in the clouds. I am not the only one who has ever wished for change. If my wish were impossible of fulfilment, though it seemed desirable, it would deserve to be denied, but where the thing is both profitable and possible, why should it not be brought about, if wishing may procure it? I wish convenient accommodation for learning and exercise. This does not now exist in every part of the country,—indeed it scarcely exists anywhere as yet. I would not have wished it if there had been any real difficulty in accomplishing it, and it will not come about before the wish is expressed. There is no heresy nor harm in my wishes, which are all for the good and happiness of my country.

Because I take upon me to direct those who teach children to read and write English, and because the reading must needs be such as writing leads to, therefore I will thoroughly examine the whole certainty of our English writing, as far as I am able, because it is a thing both proper to my subject and profitable to my country. For our natural tongue being as beneficial to us for our needful expression as any other is to the people who use it, and having as pretty and fair phrases in it, and being as ready to yield to any rule of art as any other, why should I not take some pains to find out the correct writing of ours, as men have done in other countries with theirs? And so much the rather because it is asserted that the writing of it is exceedingly uncertain, and can scarcely be rescued from extreme confusion without some extreme measure. I mean, therefore, to deal with it in such a way that I may wipe away the opinion that it is either uncertain and confused or incapable of direction, so that both native English people may have some secure place to rest in, and strangers who desire it may have some certain means of learning the language. For the performance of this task, and for my own better guidance, I will first examine the means by which other tongues of most sacred antiquity have been brought to artistic form and discipline for their correct writing, to the end that by following their way I may hit upon their method, and at the least by their example may devise some means corresponding to theirs, where the custom of our tongue and the nature of our speech will not admit of the same course being exactly followed. That being done, I will try all the variety of our present writing, and reduce the uncertain force of all our letters to as much certainty as any writing can attain.

I begin at the subject of correct writing, because reading, which is the first elementary study, must be directed both in precept and practice according to the way that the thing which is to be read is written or printed. And considering that the correct writing of our tongue is still in question, some, who are too far in advance, esteeming it quite unfit, some, who are too far behind, thinking it perfect enough, some, who have the soundest opinion, judging it to be on the whole well appointed, though in certain particulars requiring to be improved, is it not a very necessary labour to fix the writing, so that the reading may be sure? Now, in examining the correct method of our writing, I begin at that which the learned tongues used, to find out what was right for themselves, when they were in the same position in which ours now is. For all tongues keep one and the same rule for their main development, though each has its special features. In this way I shall be able to answer all those objections which charge our writing with either insufficiency or confusion, and also to examine, as by a sure touchstone, all the other supplements which have been devised heretofore to help our writing, by either altering the old characters, or devising some new, or increasing their number. For if the other tongues that have been so highly esteemed, when they were subject to, and charged with, these same supposed wants with which our writing is now burdened, delivered themselves by other means than either altering, or superseding, or increasing their characters, and made use of their own material, why should we seek means that are strange and not in keeping with our language when we have such a pattern to perfect our writing by so well-warranted a precedent? That the finest tongue was once quite rude is proved by the very course of nature, which proceeds from weakness to strength, from imperfection to perfection, from a low degree to a high dignity. What means, then, did those languages use, which have won the opinion of being correctly written, to come by the method that produced that opinion? There are two considerations in regard to speech concerning the way that has been followed in its refining. For if we look into the first degree of refining, before which no tongue at all had any beauty in the pen, we have to consider how the very first language proceeded from her first rudeness to her fullest perfection. Again, we have to consider how other secondary languages have improved and purified themselves by following the same method as that used by the primitive tongue.

But I desire to be warranted by them both, that is, to follow the first refiners and also the second improvers in this course, which, as far as I know, no man has yet kept in this subject, though several have written orthographies. And my opinion is, that it best beseems a scholar to proceed by art to any recovery from the claws of ignorance. Therefore, I will examine, even from the very root, how and by what degrees the very first tongue seems to have come by her perfection in writing, and what means were taken to continue that perfection, ever since the time that any tongue was perfected. Consideration, however, must always be had to the special peculiarities of any particular tongue, as these cannot be comprised under a general precept along with any other tongue, but must be treated as exceptions to the common rule. And yet even these particular features are not omitted in the general method of the first refining, and thus it is commended to us by means of translations, which come in the third degree, and refine after the first, by following the intervening process. Now, in this long passage from the first condition of extreme rudeness to the last neatness of finished skill, I will name three stages, each naturally succeeding the other, where the reader’s understanding may alight and go on foot, if it be wearied with riding. The first stage is while the sound alone bore sway in writing. The second is while consent in use removed authority from sound alone to the joint rule of reason, custom, and sound. The third, which is now in progress, is while reason and custom secure their own joint government with sound by means of art. For as sound, like a restrained but not banished Tarquinius, desiring to be restored to his first sole monarchy, and finding supporters only in the province of sound, sought to make a tumult among the writers, ever after that reason and custom were joined with him in commission. I will, therefore, first deal with the government in writing which was under sound, when everything was written according to the sound, though that stage came to an end long ago.

I should begin too far back in seeking out the ground of correct writing, if I should enquire either who devised letters first, or who wrote first,—a thing as uncertain to be known as it would be fruitless if it were known. For what certainty can there be of so old a thing, or what profit can arise from knowing one man’s name, even if one were the founder, which can scarcely be? For though he be honoured for the fruit of his invention, yet his authority would do small good, seeing that the matter in question is to be confirmed not by the credit of the inventor, who dwells we know not where, but by the user’s profit, which everyone feels. And therefore as they who devised the thing first (for it was the invention of no one man, nor of any one age), did a marvellously good turn to all their posterity, so we, as their posterity, must think well of the inventors, and must judge that pure necessity was the foundress of letters, and of all writing, as it has been the only general breeder of all things that better our life, need and want forcing men’s wits to seek for such helps. For as the tongue conveyed speech no further than to those that were within hearing, and the necessity of communication often arose between persons who were further off, a device was made to serve the eye afar off by the means of letters, as nature satisfied the ear close at hand by the use of speech. For the handing down of learning by the pen to posterity was not the first cause of finding out letters, but an excellent use perceived to be in them to serve for perpetuity a great while after they had been found by necessity. The letters being thus found out in order to serve a needful turn, took the force of expressing every distinct sound in the voice, not by themselves or any virtue in their form (for what likeness or affinity has the form of any letter in its own nature to the force or sound in a man’s voice?) but only by consent of the men who first invented them, and the happy use of them perceived by those who first received them.

Hereupon in the first writing the sound alone led the pen, and every word was written with the letters that the sound commanded, because the letters were invented to express sounds. Then for the correct manner of writing, who was sovereign and judge but sound alone? Who gave sentence of pen, ink, and paper, but sound alone? Then everyone, however unskilful, was partaker in the authority of that government by sound. And there was good reason why sound should rule alone, and all those have a share in the government of sound, who were able even to make a sound. In those days, all the arguments that cleave so firmly to the prerogative of sound, and plead so greatly for his interest, in the setting down of letters, were esteemed most highly, as being most agreeable to the time, and most serviceable to the State. But afterwards when sound upon sufficient cause was deposed from his monarchy, as being no fit person to rule the pen alone, and had others joined with him in the same commission, who were of as good countenance as he, though not meant to act without him, then their credit was not at all so absolute, though reasonably good still. This any well-advised supporters of sound may well perceive, and be well content with, if they will but mark the restriction in the authority of sound, and its causes. For as great inconveniences followed, and the writing itself proved more false than true, when the pen set down the form that the ear suggested to answer a particular sound, and as the sound itself was too imperious, without mercy or forgiveness whatever justification the contrary side had, men of good understanding, who perceived and disliked this imperiousness of sound, which was maintained with great uncertainty,—nay rather with confusion than assurance of right,—assembled themselves together to confer upon a matter of such general interest, and in the end, after resolute and ripe deliberation, presented themselves before sound, using the following arguments to modify his humour, but seeking rather to persuade than compel:

That it would please him to take their speech in good part, considering that it concerned not their private good, but the general interest of the whole province of writing: That he would call to his remembrance the reasons which moved them at the first to give him alone the authority over the pen, as one whom they then thought most fit for such a government, and indeed most fit to govern alone: That they now perceived, not any fault in him, for using like a prince what was his peculiar right, granted by their own commission, but an oversight in themselves in unadvisedly overcharging him with an estate which he could not rule alone without a sacrifice of his honour, whereof they were as tender as of their own souls: That their request therefore unto him was not to think more of his own private honour than of the good of the whole province: That they might with his good leave amend their own error, which however it concerned his person yet should not affect his credit, the fault being theirs in their first choice.

They paused a little while, before they uttered the main cause of their motion, for they noticed that sound began to change colour, and was half ready to swoon. For the fellow is passionate, tyrannous in authority but timorous.

Howbeit, seeing that the common good urged them to speech, they went on, and told him in plain terms that he must be content to refer himself to order, and so much the rather because their meaning was not to seek either his deprivation or his resignation, but to urge him to qualify his government, and make use of a further council which they meant to join with him, as a thing likely to bear great fruit, and of good example in many such cases, since even great potentates and princes, for the general weal of their states, were very well content, upon humble suit made to them, to admit such a council, and use it in affairs: That the reasons which moved them to make this suit, and might also move him to admit the same, were of great importance: That because letters were first found only to express him, therefore they had given him alone the whole government therein, and were well contented with it, until they had espied, not his misgovernment, but their own mischoice: That the bare and primitive inventions, being but rude, and being ruled accordingly, and experience at the time affording no more growth in refinement, why should they not now yield to refinement, upon better cause, what they yielded to rudeness from mere necessity? That no man having any sense of the correctness in writing that is commended by experience would yield the direction to sound alone, which is always altering, and differs according as either the pronouncer is ignorant or learned, or the parts that pronounce are of clear or stop delivery, or as the ear itself has judgment to discern: That considering these defects, which crave reform, and the letter itself, which desires some assurance of her own use, it might stand with his good pleasure to admit to his council two grave and great personages, whom they had long thought of, and through whose assistance he might the better govern the province of the pen.

Since they praised the parties so much, he desired their names. They answered—Reason, to consider what will be most agreeable upon sufficient cause, and Custom, to confirm by experience and proof what Reason would like best, and yet not to do anything without conference with sound.

The personages pleased him for their own worthiness, but the very thing that recommended them to him for their own value made him dislike them for the danger to himself. For is not either reason or custom, if it please them to aspire, more likely to rule the pen than sound? said he to himself. Howbeit, after they had charged his conscience with all those reasons in one throng, which they had used individually before, urging that it were no dishonour to yield a little to those who had given him his whole rule: That they might have leave to amend their own error in overcharging him: That though they seemed to lower his rank, yet they did not seek to defraud him of his own: That the wrongs done to writing, which they indicated to him were matters worthy of redress: That the councillors whom they appointed were honourable and honest: That the common benefit of the whole province of writing earnestly sued for it, and they were very well assured that so good a father as he was to that poor estate would never be unwilling, but rather voluntarily condescend without any request, that he might not be half dishonoured in delaying the request from not knowing the grievances. After they had pressed him so closely, though he was very loth, after being once a sole monarch, to become almost a private person by admitting controllers, as it seemed to him, rather than councillors, as they meant, yet perceiving that their power was such that they might force him to grant what they begged of him if he should try to make terms with them, he was content to yield, though with some show of discontent in his very countenance, and to admit Reason and Custom as his fellow-governors in the correct method of writing.

For in very deed wise and learned people, whatever they may lend ignorance to play with for a time, reserve to themselves judgment and authority to exercise control, when they see unskilfulness play the fool too much, as in this same quarrel for the alteration of sounds according to a presumptuous rule they had very great reason to do. For as in faces, though every man by nature has two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth, and so forth, yet there is always such diversity in countenances that any two men may easily be distinguished, even if they are as like as the two brothers, the Lacedaemonian princes, of whom Cicero speaks; so likewise in the voice, though in everyone it passes through by one mouth, one throat, one tongue, one barrier of teeth, and so forth, yet it is as different in everyone, as regards the sound, by reason of some diversity in the vocal organs, as the faces are different in form, through some evident distinction in the natural cast of features. And this diversity, though it hinders not the expression of everyone’s mind, is yet too uncertain to rule every man’s pen in setting down letters.

And again, what reason had it to follow every man’s ear, as a master scrivener, and to leave every man’s pen to its own sound, where there were such differences, that they could not agree where the right was, everyone laying claim to it? Again, why should ignorance in any matter be taken for a guide in a case demanding knowledge? Because of the clamour of numbers? That were to make it an affair of popular opinion, whereas the subject is one of special difficulty, requiring wisdom. And therefore if any number, though never so few, deserve to be followed, it were only they who could both speak best, and give the best reason why. But that kind of people were too few at the first to find any place against a popular government, where the ear led the ear, and it was asked why sound should give over his interest, seeing letters were devised to express sound in every one of us, and not merely the fancy of a few wise fellows. And yet when corn was once introduced, acorns grew out of use though a fit enough meat in a hoggish world. For naturally the first serves the turn till the finer and better comes forward. And as something worthily took the place of nothing, so must that something again give place to its better; as sound did something to expel rudeness, though it may not set itself to keep out progress in refinement.

Wise men would stand no longer to that diversity in writing, which necessarily followed, when everyone spelt as his vocal organs fashioned the sound, or as his skill served him, or as his ear could discern. All these means are full of variety, and never in agreement, as appears by the example of whole nations, which cannot sound some letters that others can.

Owing to these discontentments, and by consent of those who could judge and pronounce best, they arrived at a certain and reasonable custom—or rather, truth to say, to a customary reason—which they held for a law, not inadvertently hit on through error and time, but advisedly resolved on by judgment and skill. Nor yet did they, contrary to their promise, deprive sound of all his royalty, which was like that of a dictator before, but they joined reason with him, and custom too, so as to begin then in acknowledged right, and not in corruption after, as a Caesar and a Pompey, to be his colleagues in a triumvirate. From that time forward sound could do much, but not at all so much as before, being many times very justly overruled by his well-advised companions in office. Thus ended the monarchy of sound alone.

We are now come to that government in writing which was under sound, reason and custom jointly, and which proceeded in this way. Reason, as he is naturally the principal director of all the best doings, and not of writing alone, began to play the master, but yet wisely and with great modesty. For considering the disposition of his two companions, first of sound, which the letters were to express in duty, being devised for that purpose, and then of custom, which was to confirm and pave the way to general approval, he established this for a general law in the province of writing—that as the first founders and devisers of the letters used their own liberty, in assigning by voluntary choice a particular character for the eye, to a particular sound in the voice, so it should be lawful for the said founders and their posterity, according as the necessity of their use and the dispatch in their pen did seem to require it, either to increase the number of letters, if the supply seemed not to satisfy the variety in sound, or to apply one and the same letter to diverse uses, if it could be done with some nice distinction, in order to avoid a multitude of characters, as we apply words, which are limited in number, to things which are without limit; and generally, like absolute lords in a tenancy at mere will, to make their own need the test of all letters, of all writing, of all speaking, to chop, to change, to alter, to transfer, to enlarge, to lessen, to make, to mar, to begin, to end, to give authority to this, to take it from that, as they themselves should think good. This decree being penned by reason, both sound and custom at once approved—sound, because there was no remedy, though his heart longed still for his former monarchy, which was now eclipsed; custom, because that served his turn best. For if necessary use and dispatch in the pen could have authority, which was given them in law, by consent of the men who were successors to those that first founded the letter (which were men of the most learned and wisest sort), then were custom indeed, having reason for a friend, and sound no foe, a very great prince in the whole province in both writing and speaking. And good reason why. For custom is not that which men do or speak commonly or most, upon whatsoever occasion, but only that which is grounded at the first upon the best and fittest reason, and is therefore to be used because it is the fittest. If this take place according to the first appointment, then is custom in his right; if not, then abuse in fact seems to usurp upon custom in name. So that I take custom to build upon the cause, and not to make the cause.

After reason had brought both sound to this order, and custom to this authority, then was there nothing admitted in writing but that only, which was signed by all their three hands. If the sound alone served, yet reason and custom must needs confirm sound; if reason must have place, both sound and custom must needs approve reason; if custom would be credited, he could not pass unless both sound supported him and reason ratified him.

During the combined government of these three, the matter of all our precepts that concern writing first grew to strength; then rules were established and exceptions laid down, when reason and custom perceived sufficient cause. But none of all these were as yet commended to art and set down in writing; they were only held in the memory and observation of writers, having sufficient matter to furnish the body of an art, but lacking in method, which came next in place, and joined itself with the other three for this purpose.

All this time, while reason and custom governed the pen as well as sound, the discontented friends of sound never rested, but always sought means to supplant the other two, ever buzzing into ignorant ears the authority of sound and his right to his own expression; and the same errors that troubled the pen while sound alone was the judge, began to creep in again, and cause a new trouble, inasmuch as all of the more ignorant sort were clearly of opinion that the very sternness of sound was simply to be accepted without all exception, though those of learning and wisdom, who had first set up reason and custom as companions to sound, and still continued of the same mind, could very well distinguish usurpation from inheritance, and right from wrong.

Reason therefore, finding by the creeping in of this error both that he himself was being injured by senseless time, and his good custom sorely assailed by counterfeit corruption, perceived the fault to lie in the want of a good notary, and a strong obligation, by which to set in everlasting authority, by right rule and true writing, what he and custom both, by the consent of sound, had continued in use, though not put down in writing. This would ever be in danger of continual revolt from the best to the worst, by the uncertainty of time and the elvishness of error, unless it were set down in writing, and the conditions subscribed by all their consents, for a perpetual evidence against the repiner. For this is the difference between a reasonable custom and an artificial method, that the first does the thing for the second to confirm, and the second confirms by observing the first.

While nothing was set down in writing, sound and his accomplices were in hopes of some recovery, but this hope was cut off when the writings were made, and the conditions settled. The notary who was to cut off all these controversies and breed a perpetual quiet in the matter of writing, was Art, which gathering into one body all those random rules that Custom had beaten out, disposed them so in writing, that everyone knew his own limits, Reason his, Custom his, Sound his. Now when Reason, Custom, and Sound were brought into order, and driven to certainty by the means of art and method, then began the third, the last, and the best assurance in writing.

Art, being herself in place, perceived the direction of the whole tongue to be an infinitely hard task—nay to be scarcely possible in general, considering the diverse properties of the three rulers, reason, custom, and sound, which alter always with time. For what people can be sure of their own tongue any long while? Does not speech alter sometimes for the better, if the State where it is used itself continue and grow to better countenance, either for great learning, or for any other matter, which may help to refine a language? And does it not sometimes change to the more corrupt, if the State where it is used chance to be overthrown, and a master-tongue coming in as conqueror, command both the people, and the people’s speech also? In consideration of this uncertainty, Art betook herself to some one period in the tongue, when it was of most account, and therefore fittest to be made a pattern for others to follow, and pleasantest for herself to work and toil in. Upon this period she bestowed all those notes, which she perceived by observation (the secretary to reason) to be in the common use of speech and pen, either clear in sound, or suitable to reason, or liked by custom, but always supported by them all.

Such a period in the Greek tongue was the time when Demosthenes lived, and that learned race of the father-philosophers: such a period in the Latin tongue was the time when Cicero lived, and those of that age: such a period in the English tongue I take this to be in our own day, both for the pen and for speech.

Art choosing such a period in the primitive tongue, and having all the material gathered into notes, wherewith to set up her whole frame and building of method, distributed them in such a way that there was not any one thing necessary for correct writing, but she had it in writing, saving some particulars which will be always impatient of rule, and make fresh matter for another period in speech; though that which is now made so sure by means of art can never be in danger of any alteration, but will always be held for a precedent to others, being most perfect in itself. For a tongue once enrolled by the benefit of art, and grown to good credit, is established in such assurance that its right cannot be denied, and opposition would be soon espied, however it should wrangle; then it is made a common example for the refining of other languages, which have material for such a method, and desire to be so refined.

This course was kept by the first tongue that ever was refined, from the first invention of any letters, until corruption which had slily crept in, but had been wisely perceived, made a reform necessary. This reform grew again to corruption, in the nature of a relapse, because, though it was soundly made, yet it was not armed with sufficient security against the festering evil of error and corruption. Therefore, when it felt the want of such an assurance, it begged aid from art, which, like a beaten lawyer, handled the matter with such forethought in the penning of his books, that each of those who were in any way interested was taught to know what was his own. Other tongues besides the first to be refined, on marking this current of events, applied the same to their own writing, and were very glad to use the benefit of those men’s labour, who wrestled with the difficulties of sound, error, corruption, and the residue of that ill-humoured tribe.

This original precedent in the first, and transferred pattern in the rest, I mean to follow in finding out our correct English writing, and whether it will prove to be fashioned accordingly and framed like the pattern, shall appear when the thing itself shall come forth in her own natural hue, though in artificial habit.

Before I deal further with this matter, I must examine two principal points in our tongue, of which one is, whether it has material in it for art to build on, because I said that art dealt where she found sufficient matter for her labour. The other is, whether our writing is justly challenged for those infirmities with which it is charged in our time, because I said that this period of our own time seems to be the most perfect period in our English tongue, and that our custom has already beaten out its own rules, ready for the method and framework of art. These two points are necessarily to be considered. For if there be either no material for art owing to the extreme confusion, or if our custom be not yet ripe enough to be reduced to rule, then that perfect period in our tongue is not yet come, and I have entered upon this subject while it is yet too green. However, I hope it will not prove premature, and therefore I will first show that there is in our tongue great and sufficient stuff for art to work upon; then that there is no such infirmity in our writing as is pretended, but that our custom has become fit to receive this framing by art by the method which I have laid down, without any outside help, and by those rules only which may be gathered out of our own ordinary writing.

It must needs be that our English tongue has matter enough in her own writing to direct her own practice, if it be reduced to definite precepts and rules of art. The causes why this has not as yet been thoroughly perceived are the hope and despair of those who have either thought upon it and not dealt with it, or have dealt with it but not rightly thought upon it.

For some, considering the great difficulty which they found to be in the writing of our language, almost every letter being deputed to many and various—even well-nigh contrary—sounds and uses, and almost every word either wanting letters for its necessary sound, or having more than necessity demands, began to despair in the midst of such a confusion of ever finding out any sure direction on which art might be firmly grounded. Perhaps either they did not seek, or did not know how to seek, the right form of method for art to adopt. But whether difficulty in the search, or infirmity in the searchers, gave cause for this, the parties themselves gave over the thing, as in a desperate case, and by not meddling through despair they fail to help the right.

Again some others, bearing a good affection to their natural tongue, and being resolved to burst through the midst of all these difficulties, which offered such resistance, devised a new means, in which they placed their hope of bringing the thing about. Whereupon some of them who were of great place and good learning, set forth in print particular treatises with these newly conceived means, showing how we ought to write, and so to write correctly. But their good hope, by reason of their strange means, had the same result that the despair of the others had, either from their misconceiving the things at first, or from their diffidence at the last.

The causes why their plans did not take effect, and thus in part hindered the thing, by making many think the case more desperate than it really was, were these. The despair of those who thought that the tongue was incapable of any direction, came of a wrong cause, the fault arising indeed not from the thing which they condemned as altogether rude and incapable of rule, but from the parties themselves, who mistook their way. For the thing itself will soon be put into order, though it requires some diligence and careful consideration in him that must find it out. But when a writer takes a wrong principle quite contrary to common practice, where trial must be the touchstone, and practice must confirm the means which he conceives, is it any marvel if the use of a tongue resist such a means, which is not in conformity with it? From this proceeded the despair of hitting aright, because they missed their intention, whereas in reality they should have changed their intention, in order to hit upon the right, which is in the thing and will soon be found out, if it be rightly sought for.

Again, the hope of the others deceived them too quite as much. For they did not consider that whereas common reason and common custom have been long engaged in seeking out their own course, they themselves will be councillors, and will never yield to any private conception, which shall seem evidently either to force them or cross them, in acting as they themselves do, never giving any precept how to write correctly, till they have railed at custom as a most pernicious enemy to truth and right, even in the things where custom has most right, if it has right in any. Therefore when they proceeded in an argument of custom, with the enmity of him who is Lord of the soil, was it any wonder if they failed of their purpose, and hindered the finding out of our correct writing, which must needs be compassed by the consent of custom and the friendship of reason? So in the meantime, while despair deceives the one, and hope beguiles the other, the one missing his way, the other making a foe, and both going astray, they both lose their labour, and hinder the finding out of the best mode of writing, because the true method of finding out such a thing has another course, as I have shown before.

Yet notwithstanding all this, it is very manifest, that the tongue itself has matter in it to furnish out an art, and that the same means which has been used in reducing other tongues to their best form, will serve this of ours, both for generality of precept and for certainty of foundation, as may be easily proved on those four grounds—the antiquity of our tongue, the people’s intelligence, their learning, and their experience. For how can it be but that a tongue which has continued for many hundreds of years not only a tongue, but one of good account, both in speech and pen, should have grown in all that time to some refinement and assurance of itself, by so long and so general a use, the people that have used it being none of the dullest, and labouring continually in all exercises that concern learning, and in all practices that procure experience, either in peace or in war, either in public or private, either at home or abroad?

As for the antiquity of our speech, whether it be measured by the ancient Teutonic, whence it originally comes, or even but by the latest terms which it borrows daily from foreign tongues, either out of pure necessity in new matters, or out of mere bravery to garnish itself with, it cannot be young—unless the German himself be young, who claims a prerogative for the age of his speech, of an infinite prescription; unless the Latin and Greek be young, whose words we enfranchise to our own use, though not always immediately from themselves, but mostly through the Italian, French, and Spanish; unless other tongues, which are neither Greek nor Latin, nor any of the forenamed, from which we have something, as they have from ours, will for company’s sake be content to be young, that ours may not be old. But I am well assured that every one of these will strive for antiquity, and rather grant it to us than forgo it themselves. So that if the very newest words we use savour of great antiquity, and the ground of our speech is most ancient, it must needs then follow that our whole tongue was weaned long ago, as having all her teeth.

As for the importance of our tongue, both in pen and speech, no man will have any doubt who is able to judge what those things are that make any tongue to be of account, which things I take to be three—the authority of the people who speak it, the subject-matter with which the speech deals, and the manifold uses which it serves. For all these three our tongue need not give place to any of her peers.

First, to say something of the people that use the tongue, the English nation has always been of good credit and great estimation, ever since credit and estimation in the course of history came over to this side of the Alps, which appears to be true—even by foreign chronicles (not to use our own in a case that affects ourselves), which would never have said so much of the people if it had been obscure, and unworthy of a perpetual history.

Next, as to the matter with which it deals, whether private or public, it may compare with some others that think very well of themselves. For not to touch upon ordinary affairs of common life, will matters of learning in any kind of argument make a tongue of account? Our nation then, I think, will hardly be proved to have been unlearned at any time, in any kind of learning, not to use any stronger terms. Therefore, having learning by confession of all men, and uttering that learning in their own tongue for their own use, they could not but enrich the tongue, and bring it consideration.

Will matters of war, whether civil or foreign, make a tongue of account? Neighbouring nations will not deny our people to be very warlike, and our own country will confess it, though loth to feel it, both on account of remembering the suffering, and of fearing to gall our friends by vaunting ourselves. Now, in offering material for speech, war is such a breeder that, though it is opposed to learning because it is an enemy to the Muses, yet it dares compare with any department of learning for the multitude of its discourses, though these are not commonly so certain or useful as learned subjects. For war (besides the many grave and serious considerations about it) as sometimes it sends us true reports, either privately in the form of projects and devices that are intended, or publicly in events which are blazed abroad because they have occurred, so mostly it gives out—I dare not say lies, but—very incredible news, because it can hatch these at will, being in no danger of control, and commonly free from witnesses. Every man, moreover, seeks both to praise himself and to harm his enemy, besides procuring some courteous entertainment by telling what is not true to those that love to hear it. All these tales about stratagems and engines of war and many other such things, give matter for speech and occasion for new words, and by making the language so ready, make it of renown.

Will all kinds of trade, and all sorts of traffic, make a tongue of account? If the spreading sea and the spacious land could use any speech, they would both show you where and in how many strange places they have seen our people, and also let you know that they deal in as much, and in as great a variety of matters, as any other people, whether at home or abroad. This is the reason why our tongue serves so many uses, because it is conversant with so many people, and so well acquainted with so many matters, in such various kinds of dealing. Now all this variety of matter and diversity of trade, both make material for our speech, and afford the means of enlarging it. For he who is so practised will utter what he practises in his natural tongue, and if the strangeness of the matter requires it, he who is to utter, will rather than stick in his utterance, use the foreign term, explaining that the people of the country call it so, and by that means make a foreign word an English denizen.

All these reasons concerning the tongue and its importance being put together, not only prove the nation’s exercise in learning, and their practice in other dealings, but seem to infer—to say the least—no base-witted people, because it is not the part of fools to be so learned, so warlike, and so well-practised in affairs. I shall not need to prove any of these positions, either from foreign or home history, as my readers who are strangers will not urge me for them, and those of my own nation will not, I think, gainsay me in them, since they know them to be true, and may use them for their honour.

Therefore I may well conclude my first position, that if use and custom, having the advantage of such length of time to refine our tongue, of so great learning and experience to furnish material for the refining, and of so good intelligence and judgment to direct it, have attained nothing which they refuse to let go in the correct manner of our writing, then our tongue has no certainty to trust to, but writes all at random. But the antecedent is, in my opinion, altogether impossible; therefore the consequent is a great deal more than probable, which is that our tongue has in her own possession very good evidence to prove her own correct writing; and though no man as yet, to judge by any public writing of his, seems to have seen this, yet the tongue itself is ready to show it to anyone who is able to read it, and to judge what evidence is trustworthy in regard to the standard of writing. Therefore, seeing I have proved sufficiently in my own opinion that there is great cause why our tongue should have some good standard in her own writing, and consider myself to have had the sight of that evidence by which such a standard appears most capable of justification, and am not altogether ignorant of how to give a decision upon it, I will do my best, according to the course which I said was kept in the first general refining of any speech, and has also been transferred to every secondary and particular tongue, to set forth some standard for English writing. This I will base upon those notes which I have observed in the tongue itself, the best and finest therein, which by comparison with themselves offer the means of correcting the worse, without either introducing any innovation, as those do who set forth new devices, or mistaking my way, as those do who despair that our tongue can be brought to any certainty without some marvellous foreign help. Thus much for the material fit for art in our tongue; now for the objections which charge it with infirmities.

Those who see imperfections in our tongue either blame certain errors which they allege to be in our writing, or else they will seem to seek its reformation. In pointing out errors they rail at custom as a vile corrupter, and complain of our letters as miserably deficient. In their desire for redress they appeal to sound as the only sovereign and surest leader in the government of writing, and fly to innovation, as the only means of reforming all errors in our writing.

In their quarrel with custom they seek to bring it into general hatred, as a common corrupter of all good things, declaring it to be no marvel if it abuse speech, which in passing through every man’s mouth, and being imitated by every man’s pen, must needs gather much corruption by the way, because the ill are many just as the good are few, and common corruption, which they term custom, is an ill director to find out a right. Hereupon they conclude that, as it seems most probable, so it is most true that the chief errors which have crept into our pen take their beginning from the sole infection of an evil custom, which ought not so much as once to be named, for direction to what is right, in either pen or speech, being so manifestly false, notwithstanding whatever any writers, old or new, can pretend to the contrary. Then they descend to particularities, proving that we sometimes burden our words with too many letters, sometimes pinch them with too few, sometimes misshape them with wrong sounding, sometimes misorder them with wrong placing. And are not these marvellously great causes of discontent with custom, which is the breeder of them? And yet if good writers seem to favour custom, then the case is not so clear as you take it to be, that it is nothing but a hell of most vile corruptions; that it alone infects all good things; that it alone corrupts correct writing. For if it were indeed only this, they would not warrant it, and give it such great credit, as I remember they do. Is there not, then, some error in the name, and may not custom be misconstrued? For certainly these writers, when they speak of custom, mean that rule in conduct and virtuous life in which good men agree, and their consent is what these men term custom, as they call that rule in speaking and writing the custom wherein the most skilful and learned agree. And is it likely that either the honest in act will mislead virtue in living, or the learned will disapprove of correctness in writing? And, again, those honest men who approve of custom in matters of life complain very much of corruption in manners and evil behaviour; and the learned men, who approve of custom in matters of speech and pen, complain very much of error in writing and corruption in speech; and both accuse the majority of people as the leaders to error, and set down the common abuse at the door of the multitude. And therefore it cannot be otherwise but that the double name is what deceives. For those who accuse custom mean false error which counterfeits custom, and is a great captain among the impudent for evil and the ignorant for rashness, and yet has the chief part in directing all. And those who praise custom mean plain truth, which cannot dissemble, which is the companion of the honest in virtue, and of the learned in knowledge, and directs all best. Now will ye see? This mistermed “custom” in the pen is that counterfeit abuse which was the only cause why the monarchy of sound, of which I spoke before, was dissolved, and itself condemned by those wise people who joined reason with sound; and the right custom which writers commend so is that companion of reason which succeeded in its place when the counterfeit was cast out. Now you see the error. So neither do writers approve of such a corruption, nor is custom your opponent, but both writers and custom, as well as you and I will scratch out the eyes of common error, for misusing good things and belying custom. If good things are abused it is by bad people, whose misnamed custom is rightly named error. If words are overcharged with letters, that comes either by the covetousness of those who sell them by lines, or the ignorance of those who, besides pestering them with too many, both weaken them with too few, and wrong them with the change of force and position.

When they have dealt thus with custom, and with their opponents (as they consider those who are really their friends) without marking what their reasons are, or by whose authority custom is established, which they so impugn by suggestion of a counterfeit, then they begin to complain sorely of the insufficiency and poverty of our letters. While these are as many as in other tongues, yet they do not suffice, it is alleged, for the full and right expression of our sounds, though they express them after a sort, but force us to use a number of them, like the Delphic sword of which Aristotle speaks, for many sounds and services contrary to the nature of such an instrument, each letter being intended at first for one sound. Thus it comes to pass that we both write improperly, not answering the sound of what we say, and are never like ourselves in any of our writing, but always vary according to the writer’s humour, without any certain direction. Therefore, foreigners and strangers wonder at us, both for the uncertainty in our writing and the inconstancy in our letters. And is it not a great shame that so able a nation as the English, who have been of very good note for so many years, either should not notice, or would not amend, in all this time the poverty of their pen, and the confusion in their letters, but both let their writing thus always run riot, and themselves be mocked by foreign people?

If foreigners do marvel at us, we may requite them with as much, and return their wonder home, considering that they themselves are subject to the very same difficulties which they wonder at in us, and have no more letters than we have, and yet both write and are understood in spite of all these insufficiencies, just as we also write and are understood in this our insufficiency even by their own confession. But the common use of writing among those strangers, which agrees so with ours in our uncertainty, makes me think that this complaint of insufficiency is not general either with them or with us, but in both cases belongs to a few, who objecting to what they know nothing of, and not observing what they cannot, therefore blame what they should not. For if their blaming upon good cause, and marking upon wise judgment concurred with their number, though not so great, I should be afraid lest they should have the better, because they were the fewer; but being both the fewer and the weaker, they carry no great weight in condemnation. Other folks also, who see something as well as they, do not quite disapprove of all their disapproval, but desire some redress, where there is good cause, though they may not agree as to the means of bringing about the redress, nor yet admit that the error is as great as these objectors pretend. For we confess that this multiplicity and manifold use in the force and service of our letters requires some distinctions to be known by, if general acquaintance with our own writing do not help us to perceive in use what we put down by use; but still we defend and maintain the multiplicity itself, as a thing much used even in the best tongues, and therefore not unlawful, even though there were no distinctions.

And again, we do not think that every custom is an evident corruption, where the general usage of those who cannot be suspected of writing with other than good judgment, lays the groundwork for precept, as leading to the exercise of art, and assurance to the pen. And we rest content with the number of our letters. Some people in studying to increase this number, only cumber our tongue, both with strange characters and with needless diphthongs, forcing us away from what the general rule has won and is content with. And why not these letters only? Or why may they not be put to many uses? This paucity and poverty of letters has contented the best and bravest tongues that either are, have been, shall be, or can be, and has expressed by them, both in speech and pen, as great variety and as much difficulty in all subjects as possibly can be expressed or understood by the English tongue or be devised by any English intelligence. The people that now use them, and those that have used them, have naturally the same organs of voice, and the same delivery in sound, for all their speaking, that we English have, because they are men, just as we English folk are; and they handed down the use of the pen to us, and not we to them. And finding in their own use this necessity which you note, they fled to that help which you think naught, and were bold with their letters, to make them serve diverse turns, sometimes with change, sometimes with some ingenious mark of distinction. That this kind of distinction is enough, is known to all who are acquainted with the foreign letters, and with those writers who treat of them. Nor is there any difficulty which they are not subject to, either in the same or in very similar things, just as we are. And will strangers wonder at us? Or do not those of our own people who are learned perceive these things? For in the ignorant I require no such discretion. I certainly think that all people, as they have the same natural organs to speak by, though from habit some may harp more on one sound than on others, and some—even whole nations—may lean more upon one organ, such as the throat or the teeth, than others do, yet naturally all are made able to sound all kinds of speech and all letters, if they are accustomed to them at the most fitting age and by the best means. I hold also that it is only education and custom that make the difference, and therefore rule all, or at least most, in speech, wherein if there be any reason, it is not natural and simple, as in things, but artificial and compound, based upon such and such a cause in custom and consent. And though the Hebrew grammarians alone divide their letters according to the vocal organs on which they lean most, such as the throat, the roof of the mouth, the tongue, the lips, or the teeth, yet not the Hebrews alone have that distinction in nature, but every people which has throat, teeth, palate, tongue, lips, and with those organs use the utterance of sounds. This is an argument to me, both that use is the mistress, and that he who sounds on any one method by the usage of his country, may be smoothed to some other by the contrary use, and that therefore the same letters will serve all people, if they choose to frame themselves accordingly. For, otherwise, why do we persuade our people to sound Latin in one way, Greek in another, Hebrew in another, Italian in another, if it is not a thing that we can become acquainted with through customary usage? And this being so in all nations, what need have we for more letters to utter our minds, seeing that the organs of utterance are all one, and that nothing can be uttered either more diverse or difficult than those have uttered from whom we have the letters we possess? Nor is it any discredit to our people to rest content with those letters, and with that number, which antiquity has approved and held for sufficient. Is nature, therefore, which was fruitful in them, now so barren that we may not invent, and add something to theirs? No, forsooth. All mankind is one, without any respect of this or that age, both to nature herself, and to the God and Lord of nature, and therefore what is given to one man, or delivered in one age of common service, is meant for all men and all ages, and always for their benefit; nor is either God himself, or nature his minister, tied to any time for the delivery of their gifts, but whenever man’s necessity compels him to seek, then they help him to find. We understand, therefore, that as no one age brings forth everything, so no one age can but confess that it has some one or other particular invention, though not the self-same, because it is enough to have received it once to use ever after. So is it in this use of letters, which being once perfected is never to be shaken, unless a better means be found of uttering our speech, which I shall not see, nor can foresee by any secret prophecy. In these inventions, though the first receiver have the prerogative in taking, yet the whole posterity has the benefit in using, and generally with greater perfection, because time and continuance increase and prune, and when it is at the full, it is a mistake to seek further, which I take to be the case in the matter of penning. Nor is the restraint from innovating, altering, or adding to things already perfected any discourtesy in reason, or any discountenance in nature, but the simple delivery of a perfect thing to our elder brethren to be conveyed unto us; as we in like case must be the transporters to our posterity of such things as it pleases God to continue by our means, whether received from our elders or devised by ourselves.

But why may we not use all our four-and-twenty letters, even for four-and-twenty uses each, if occasion serve, seeing that the characters being known are more familiar and easier to be discerned than any new device—yea, even though the old resembled each other more, and there were but one new? It has been sufficiently declared already, that those men who first devised letters, reserved the authorities over them and their use to themselves for life, and to their successors for ever, to modify and use them as it should please them best by consent among themselves, as necessity arose. And why not so, where the invention is their own, and the right use of it? This general reservation is enrolled already in all reason and antiquity, and the particular consent for the writing of our language is given already by our general use, and will be registered also in a very good record, I hope, and that shortly. And will you make that sovereign which is but subaltern? Or will you take that to be immovable like a steady rock, which roams by nature, to serve the finder? There is no such assurance in sound for the establishing of a right as you conceive, nor any such necessity in letters to be constant in one use as you seek to enforce.

The philosopher says that nature makes one thing for one use, and that every use has its particular instrument naturally, but that our own inventions—nay, that even the most natural means—may through our application, serve for sundry ends and uses. And will letters stand so upon their reputation as not to seem to admit of our applying them to their own purposes, seeing that they are both our creatures, and by creation our bondmen, both to sound as we shall think good, and in as many ways as we may wish them to serve? No, surely, they do not think so, but they are most ready to serve as we appoint, both by creation and by covenant. The letters yield readily, but some letters seek to delay their dutiful obedience, holding that their substance is adamant, and that they were not born to yield so.

With the same pen we make letters and mar them; with the same we direct and destroy them; which are contrary uses, though meant to compass the same right end. And will letters seem to serve but for one use, being nothing but elves of the pen’s breeding? They will not, but prove their own dutifulness to the pen, their parent, by following his direction in very many points, as they yield to reason and reasonable custom in many of their powers, whereby they seem to argue against contention, they themselves being satisfied.

The number of things which we write and speak about is infinite, yet the words with which we write and speak are definite and of limited number. Therefore we are driven to use one and the same word in very many—nay sometimes in very contrary senses—and that is the case in all the best languages, as well as in English, where a number of our words are of very various powers, as in the sentence: “A bird flies light, wherever she may light,” and many others that need not now be mentioned. And will letters stand aloof, so as to sound always in but one way, and to serve always but one use, where their great-grandfathers, even the words themselves, are forced to be manifold—nay, are very well content so to be, because of their founder’s command to be pliable, and at the voluntary disposal of wisdom and learning? Letters must not stand aloof, but approve of the service allotted to them, be it never so manifold, seeing that without confusion, customary acquaintance will make the distinctions clear; as a disputer will sift out the difference of manifold words, so that the variety in their senses may cause no quarrel in the argument.

If through want of skill and mere ignorance, we do not write always in the same way, then knowledge is the helper, and he that will follow the right usage must have the desire to learn aright.

If distinctions are wanted then accent must be the means of avoiding confusion, or some such device which may serve the purpose without pestering the writing by anything too strange. For it is most certain that we may use our letters like all other things whose end is the convenience of man. Nor is it any abuse when those who use can give a reason that is sufficient to the wise, and not contrary to good custom. And though some may not be persuaded, yet when an act is passed by division of the house, it is law by parliament. Then the objectors must relent and follow, though they may not favour it. They must make the best of what they thought worst, when lawful authority restrains their will. A thing originally free, being once controlled by order, has lost its freedom, and must then keep the current appointed for it, being itself subject to man for his uses.

Our letters are limited in number, but their usage is certain even in their greatest uncertainty, and therefore I take it that we may rest content both with their number and with their use. So much concerning the complaint of our poverty in letters, and the confusion in their powers, which I do not wonder at, because I see it so in all things; and I see no cause why we cannot overcome the difficulty by our own inventions and devices, where we are to take account of nothing but our own consent, guided by the judgment of the wisest men, and imitation of uncorrupted nature.

If there be need, the increase in the number of our letters is not refused to us any more than to other people, but the need is denied, because we entered upon other people’s most perfect inventions, and though this came later in time, yet it was so much the surer, because all things necessary were devised to our hands, and because our need can be no new need. Whatever we need to write we are able to write, and when we have written it we are able to read it. If there be any fault, the remedy must be, not to seek what we have not, but to mark what we have, seeing that we have sufficient.

The credit of sound being well established in their opinion, as the natural lord and leader of all our letters, and custom being condemned as a traitor, intruding against all right upon the territory of sound, then they turn to the cure of this diseased corruption, and pray Hippocrates to be judge. To amend that which is amiss in the writing of our tongue, their ground-work being laid in the shaken monarchy of deposed sound, they proceed in a full course of general innovation, though some more and some less. First, they increase the number of our letters and diphthongs, as if it were not possible either heretofore to have written, or at this day to write, any word correctly, for want of some increase in the number of our letters. For as the overcharging of our words with too many letters comes by using too much those which we have already, so the difficulty through using them so diversely proceeds from the mere want of material to answer each particular purpose.

Then they change the form of our letters and bring us in new faces with very strange lineaments, how well-favoured to behold, I am sure I know, and how unready for a penman to run on with, methinks I foresee,—yet such readiness in the character to follow the hand roundly is a special service belonging to the pen. Nor do I myself in these observations so much regard what the print will stamp well,—for it will express anything well whose form can be imitated,—as what the pen will write well and that with good dispatch, because printing is but a peculiar benefit for the few, while writing is general and in every man’s fingers. A form that is fair to the eye in print and cumbersome to the hand in penning, will not pass in writing. To conclude, this, they say, is the only help to amend all misses: for defect, to enlarge; for what is old and corrupt, to bring in what is new and correct; need enforces redress, and duty requires these changes.

Must we then alter all our writings anew? Or from what day is this reform to take full place? It is a strange point of physic when the remedy itself is more dangerous than the disease. Besides, I take the alteration in this sort to be neither necessary, as there is no such insufficiency, nor yet expedient, seeing that such inconveniences follow. For speech being an instrument and means of uttering what the mind conceives, if by the delivery of the mouth the mind be understood, the speech is sufficient in fully answering so needful a purpose. If writing, in which I include both the print and the pen, so fully express the pith of the voice that the reader may understand the writer’s meaning in full, I cannot persuade him that the letters which he reads are not sufficient to express the writer’s meaning, as he is ready to confute this by the proof that he understands it most completely.

But these objectors will say that this understanding comes, not through the writing, but by the intelligent reader, who understands correctly by means of the so usual, though so corrupt, writing, which is imperfectly and improperly written, and that propriety in using the pen is wrongly refused, when it may be had easily with very small effort.

I like the reason well, as I admit some imperfection. But neither is the imperfection so great as they conceive, nor is their reason so near to redress as they think. As for the imperfection, how it comes and how to help it, my whole labour will prove that in the sequel. As for their reason, I cannot see that it would be a small effort, because they alter entirely, or at least they quite change the superficial appearance, which in this case, where propriety in writing is the possession of custom, would be too great a strain. For custom, being so secure, will not be content to be overruled in his own province, or to admit the claim of any reform where he is proprietor, however private men’s notions, upon never so probable appearances, may offer support to the contrary side.

The use and custom of our country has already chosen a kind of penning, in which she has set down her religion, her laws, her private and public dealings; every private man has, with the approval of his country, so drawn his private writings, his evidence, his letters, that the thing seems impossible to be removed by so strong an alteration, though it be most willing to receive some reasonable pruning, so that the substance may remain, and the change take place in such points only as may please without novelty, and profit without forcing. For were it not in good sooth too violent a step to offer to overthrow a custom so generally received, so definitely settled—nay, grounded so securely as shall shortly appear—by altering either all or most of our letters? Were it not a sign of a very simple orator to think that by so strange an innovation he could persuade custom to divorce himself from so long and so lawful a match? Nay, were it not wonderful even but to wish that all our English scripture and divinity, all our laws and policy, all our evidence and writings were penned anew, because we have not that set down in writing which our forefathers meant, but either more or less, owing to the insufficiency of our writing, which is not able to set faithfully and fully down what the mind conceives? They will say that they do not mean so radical a change. But they must needs mean it, because it must either follow at once upon the admitting of this new alteration, which is too great in sense, or, after a term of years, which is too great in thought. For with a new writing coming in, and the old character growing out of knowledge, all records of whatever kind must needs either come over to the new fashion, or remain worm-eaten like an old relic, to be read as the Roman religion written down under Numa Pompilius was read by those of Cicero’s time, when every word was as uncouth and strange as if it had come from some other world. But am I not undertaking a needless task in disapproving what I need not fear, because there is no danger in it, the very usage of our country refusing it already? I grant I am. But yet I must say something that I may not seem to contemn, since if I say nothing my opponents may then seem to have said something. But certainly I hold the thing to be much too cumbersome and inconvenient, even though it were likely to be profitable, but where no likelihood of any profit at all is in sight, and the change itself seems neither necessary nor easy, I cannot approve the means, though I bear no grudge to its proposers, who deserve great thanks for their good intentions. For their labour is very profitable to help forward some redress, though they themselves have not hit on it. For while different men attempt to solve the problem, some one or other will hit it at last, whereas the case would be desperate if it were never dealt with. But this amendment of theirs is too far-fetched, and without its help we understand our print and pen, our evidence, and other writing. And though we grant some imperfection, as in a tongue not yet fully developed, yet we do not admit that it is to be perfected either by altering the form or by increasing the number of our familiar letters, but only by observing where the tongue by her ordinary custom yields to the refining process, as the old, and therefore the best, method leads us. For it is no argument, when faults are found, to say this is the help, and only this, because no other is in sight. But whenever the right is found by orderly seeking, then the argument is true, that it was not thoroughly sought, when it was denied to exist. And to speak impartially between the letter and sound on the one side, and custom and the letter on the other side, letters can express sounds with all their joints and properties no more fully than the pencil can the form and lineaments of the face, whose merit is not life but likeness; for the letters, though they yield not always what sound exactly requires, give always the nearest, and custom is content with this. And therefore if a letter do not sound just as you wish, yet hold it as the next best, lest if you change you come not so near. And though one letter be used in diverse, or even contrary sounds, you cannot avoid it by any change, seeing that no other has been liked hitherto but this which we use. Certainly, so far as I have observed, we are as well appointed for our necessity in that way, and as much bound to our general custom for the artificial tones of our natural tongue as any other nation is to any other language, whether ancient in books or modern in speech. And whatever insufficiency seems to be in its writing, it will excuse itself, and lay the whole blame upon the insufficient observer for not seeking the solution in the right way. This will be found true, when it shall be seen that by sufficient care it may be made clear and pure without any foreign help, and without either altering the form or increasing the number of our ordinary letters, but only by notes of its own breeding, which, being already in use, desire nothing else but some direction from art. This I am in good hopes of performing, according to the plan of the best refiners in the most refined tongues, with such consideration as either breeds general rules, or else must bear with particular exceptions. I will mark what our customary writing will yield us in the way of notes, without dreaming of change, which cannot stem so fatal a current as custom runs with. I will therefore do my best to confirm our custom in his own right, which will be easily obtained, where men are acquainted with the matter already, and would be very glad to see wherein the correct manner of their writing stands, and a great deal more glad to find it so near when they thought it to be further off. Thus have I run through these alleged infirmities in our tongue, whose physicking I like not this way, and therefore I will join close with my own observation to see if that will help.

Those men who will give any certain direction for the writing of any tongue, or for anything else that concerns a tongue, must take some period in its history, or else their rules will prove inapplicable. For every tongue has a certain ascent from the lowest to the highest point, and a descent again from the highest to the lowest; and as in the ascent it has not reached a secure position, because it is not thoroughly reduced to art, so in the descent it comes to be not worth noting, because it gets rude again, and in a manner withered. Hence it comes that the age of Demosthenes is the prince of Greece, as that of Cicero is the flower of Rome, and if the languages of these countries had not been committed to the security of books, they would have been of little worth; nay, they would have been forgotten altogether, long before our day, as the spoken tongues of those nations, changing continually since the periods named, are now quite altered, or at least are nothing like what they were in their prime, though still blooming in another form. So that books give life where bodies bring only death. Consider the Greek and Latin writers before the ages of those men, and by comparing them with these, you will see the difference that I spoke of, the earlier being too rude to be brought under rule, and the later departing from established rules and yielding to change. This period of full development, with the ascent to it and the decline leading to decay, shows us that everything belonging to man is subject to change, the language changing also, but never dying out. It must needs be therefore that there is something of the nature of a soul in every spoken tongue that feeds this change even with perceptible means. For if any tongue be fixed, and free from movement, it is enshrined in books, not subject to ordinary use, but made immortal by the register of memory.

This secret mystery, or rather quickening spirit, that dwells in every spoken tongue, and therefore in our own, I call “prerogative,” because when sound has done his best, when reason has said his best, and when custom has carried into effect what is best in both, this prerogative will resist any of them, and take exception to all their rules, however general and certain. It thus makes way for a new change, which will follow at some stage of the language, if the writer’s period be chosen at the best. I cannot compare this customary prerogative in speech to anything better than to those who devise new garments, and are left by law to liberty of device. Hence it comes in the matter of apparel, that we do not remain like ourselves for any length of time, though what is most seemly, like a rule of art, pleases the wisest people best. From this same liberty of speech to carve out a way for itself, come the exceptions to our general rules. Hence it comes that enough, bough, tough, and such other primitives are so strangely written, and more strangely sounded. In this way prerogative seems to be like quicksilver, ever stirring and never settled, though the general custom always offers itself to be ordered by rule, as a close friend to reason. This stirring quintessence, leading to change in a thing that is naturally changeable and not blameworthy for changing, some not very well-advised people consider as an error, and a private misuse, contrary to custom, because it seems to be a very imperious controller, but in this they are deceived. For indeed, though this prerogative, by opposition in particular cases, checks general conclusions, yet that opposition came not from individual men; it is a private thing itself, and the very life-blood which preserves tongues in their best natural form, from the first time that they grew to be of any account till they come to decay, and begin a new period, different from the old, though excellent in its kind, which in its turn must give way to another when the time is ripe.

I take this present period of our English tongue to be its very height, because I find it as excellently refined, both in its general substance and in its customary writing, as either foreign workmanship can give it gloss, or home-wrought handling can give it grace. When the period of our nation which now uses the tongue so well is dead and departed, another will succeed, and with the people the tongue will alter. A later period may in its full harvest prove comparable to the present, but surely this which we now have seems to be at its best and bravest, and whatever may become of the English State, the English tongue cannot prove fairer than it is at this date, if it may please our learned class to think so of it, and to bestow their labour on a subject so capable of adornment, and so fitting to themselves. The force of prerogative is such that it cannot be disobeyed, though it seems to derange some well-ordered rule, and make people wonder who do not weigh the cause.

For this reason, when any case arises quite contrary to the common precept, though not to the common custom, then we must needs think of the power of prerogative, a great princess in influence, and a parent to corruption, but intending to raise another Phœnix from the former ashes. He who refuses to grant such a prerogative to any tongue, denies it life, unless he means, by registering some period in it of most excellent note, to restrain prerogative, and preserve the tongue, which he secures by writing from being profaned by the people; it becomes then a learned tongue and exempt from corruption, as our book-languages are, whose rules are so secure that they dream of no change. This prerogative and liberty which the nation has, to use both speech and pen at will, is the cause why English writers are finer now than they were some hundred years ago, though some antiquary may consider the old writing finer. But the question is wherein fineness consists. So was Sallust deceived among the Romans, living with Cicero, and writing like ancient Cato.

In this prerogative of writing, the very pen itself is a great influence and has marvellous authority, for being the secretary who carries out what is expressed by the intelligence, it presumes upon this to venture, as far as any counsellor may, though never against reason, whose instrument it is to satisfy the eye as the tongue satisfies the ear. Custom, whose charge prerogative is, as the pen is his conveyer, favours the pen very greatly and will not hesitate to maintain that a dash with a pen may hold for a warrant, when both speed and grace bid the pen be bold. Hence it comes that in our language so many z’s are heard, and so few seen, owing to the regard for dexterity and speed in the fluency of writing; and as the pen can do this, I take it as a matter of prerogative, for the sake of smoothness, that our tongue uses z so much for s.

But it may be said that all our exceptions, due to most reasonable prerogative, may well be reduced to a general form, which I do not at all deny, though I see some difficulty in altering what our custom has thus grasped, and it were almost too much to require any wise and learned man so to arrest exceptions, particularly where no standard can be fixed. He who wishes this seems to conceive of such a thing, but even if it were attempted, the stream of custom would break out again immediately in some other way, and cause an even greater gap, for no banks can keep it in so narrowly but those that are content to be sometimes overflowed, and no strength can withstand such a current but those stays which in the fury of water will bend like a bulrush.

If any pen, either through ignorance or pretension, offend against reason, and intrude upon prerogative, that is no good quill, and it will not be upheld by me; nor is that current to be called custom which holds by usurpation; nor is that cause to be accounted reason which has any other beginning than genuine knowledge, or any other ending than the nature of the thing will seem to admit. Certainly, when I consider the matter deeply—and my thoughts on it have not been slight or superficial—I cannot see why, when the imperfections are removed that always accompany perfection, and can easily be removed, to the satisfaction of the wise who are not blinded with their own habits, the tongue as well as the pen may not quite well have its prerogative, since our custom has become so well-ordered that it may be ruled without chopping or changing a single letter, or otherwise begging more aid from foreign invention than I have already sufficiently set down.

These are my suggestions for the regulation of our tongue and the fixing of a standard in its writing. If I have in any way hit the mark, I shall be warranted by the right, though it may not seem so to some, and in this I must be comforted, even if I cannot content all.

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My fellow-countrymen and gentle readers, my first purpose in taking up this subject, and venturing into print, of which till lately I have stood in awe, was to do some good in the profession in which I have for many years been engaged, and by giving my experience in the teaching of the learned tongues, to lighten the labour of other men, because I had discovered some defects that required a remedy. But the consideration of these led me a great deal further than I dreamed of at first. Intending to deal only with the teaching of languages in the Grammar School, I was enforced by the sway of meditation to think of the whole course of learning, and to consider how every particular thing arose in a definite order. For without that consideration how could I have discerned where to begin and where to end, in any one thing that depends on a sequel and proceeds from a principle? For the subject I am dealing with is a matter of ascent, where every particular that goes before has continual reference to what comes after, if the whole scheme is scientifically arranged. In this course of mine, the elementary principles may be compared to the first groundwork, the teaching of tongues to the second storey and the after-learning to the upper buildings. Now as in architecture and building he were no good workman who did not plan his framework so that each of the ascents should harmonise with the others, so in the stages of learning it were no masterly part not to show a similar care, and that cannot be done till the whole is thought of and thoroughly shaped in the mind of him who undertakes the work.

After I had formed an opinion both as to where lay the blemishes which disfigured learning and as to how they might be redressed, as well for my own practice as by way of advice to others, I came down to particulars and began to examine even from the very first what went before the tongues in the orderly upbringing of children. This was the first task that claimed me before I fell to further thoughts and the last too, even when I had considered all that followed, but it was then undertaken more advisedly. I entered upon an investigation into the whole early training all the more readily because I perceived great backwardness in the learning of tongues through infirmities in the elementary groundwork. What a toil it is to a grammar master when the young child who is brought to him to teach, has no foundation laid on which anything can be built! I undertook, therefore, to enquire into all those things that concern the elementary training, as a stage in teaching preceding the study of grammar, hoping by my own labour to be of use to a multitude of masters. Moreover, as this matter concerns learners who have not yet entered upon Latin, and teachers who may have only mediocre learning, I thought it best to publish in the tongue that is common to us all, both before and after we learn Latin.

But here there are three questions that may perhaps be asked: First, what those blemishes are which I observed in the main body of learning, a subject so closely investigated in our day by such a variety and excellence of learned wits that every branch of it is thought to have recovered the consideration it had at its highest point; secondly, why in regard to methods of teaching I do not content myself with following the precedent of other writers, who in great numbers have written learned treatises with the same end in view, but rather toil myself with a private labour, the issue of which is uncertain, whereas the previous writers on the subject, being themselves learned, and having achieved success, may be followed with assurance; thirdly, if it is my endeavour to handle a learned subject in the English tongue, why I take so much pains and such a special care in handling it, that the weaker sort, whose benefit I profess to consider—nay, often others also of reasonable study—can with difficulty understand the couching of my sentence and the depth of my meaning.

While I answer these questions, I must pray your patience, my good masters, because the things may not be lightly passed over, and in satisfying your demands I shall pave the way for the suit I have to make to you.

First, as for my general care for the whole course of learning, I have thus much to say. The end of every individual man’s doings for his own advantage, and the end of the whole commonweal for the good of us all, are so much alike in aspect, and so entirely the same in nature, that when the one is seen the other needs little seeking. Each individual man labours in this world in order to win rest after toil, to have ease after work; he does not wish to be always engaged in labour, which would be exceedingly irksome if it were endless. The soldier fights in his own intention perhaps to gain ease through wealth, which he may win by spoil; in outward appearance he labours for the advantage of his country by way of defence and security. The merchant traffics in his own intention to procure personal ease through private wealth; to the public he seems to labour for the common benefit, by supplying wants in necessary wares for general use. Indeed, all men, whatever be their occupation, while seeking private ends in their actions, at the same time concur in serving general ends. Thus it appears that ease after labour is the common aim of both private and public efforts, because everyone in the natural course of his whole conduct has regard to the general prosperity and quiet, which maintain his own personal well-being. Then the means both of coming by this end, and when it is come by, of maintaining it in state, must needs lie in such directions as make for the peace and quietness of a State, for the keeping of concord and agreement without any main public breach, both in private houses and generally throughout the whole government. These peaceable directions I call, and not I alone, by the simple name of general learning, comprising under it all the arts of peace and the ministry of tranquillity—a matter of great moment, being the only right means to so blessed a thing as fortunate peace, imparting the benefit of public quietness to every household, as a central fountain serves every man’s cistern by private pipes, and if it be not sound, conveying the blemish like the infected water of a fountain, or the corrupt blood that escaping from the liver poisons the whole body. Even war itself, a professed enemy to learning, because it is in feud with peace, may by just handling be shown to work for peace at home by uniting the minds of all against a common foe. By the employment of learning in every department all princes govern their States; the general control is exercised through grave and learned counsellors and wise and faithful justiciaries, and the particular control, in religion by divines, in the health of the body by physicians, in the maintenance of right by lawyers, and so on in every particular profession, from the greatest to the meanest, throughout the whole government—a most blessed means to a most blessed end, a learned maintenance of a heavenly happiness in an earthly State of a heavenly constitution. Therefore, any error in this means is an injury indeed, and deserves to be thought of as a hindrance to peace, and a pernicious destroyer of the best public end, beginning perhaps as a small spark, but always gathering strength by the confluence of similar infection in some other parts, till at last it sets all on fire, and bursts out in a confusion, the more to be feared that it festers before it breaks into flame, and shrouding itself under a show of peace, consumes without suspicion, and escapes being brought to terms as a professed enemy. I may say that in my reflection on this subject of the ascent of learning from the elementary stage, I thought I found these four imperfections in the whole body of learning—in some places an excess, in others a defect, in others too great a variety, in others too much disagreement. These are four great enormities in a peaceable means, breeding great diseases, and bidding defiance to quiet, both within the State in the governing direction, and outside it by evident inflammation, and they are therefore to be thought of not only for complaint in particular cases, but by magistrates in regard to their amendment.

As for excess I conceive that as in every natural body the number of sinews, veins, and arteries to give it life and motion, is definite and certain, so in a body politic the distributive use of learning, which I compare to those parts, is everywhere certain. And whatever is more than nature requires in either of them, as in the one it breeds disease, so in the other it causes destruction by breach of proportion, and so consequently of peace. In natural bodies excess appears when one or more parts encroach on the others and enfeeble them. In communities this excess in learning is to be discerned when the private professions swell too much and so weaken the whole body, either by the multitude of professional men, who bite deeply where many must be fed and there is little to feed on, or by unnecessary professions, which choke off the more useful, and fill the world with trifles, or by an infinitude of books, which cloy up students, and weaken them by an intolerable diffuseness of treatment, fattening the carcass but lowering the strength of pithy matter. Do not all these surfeits exist at this day in our own State? Are they not enemies to the common good, being grown out of proportion? Are they not worth consideration and redress?

I pass now to the question of defect. In a natural body there is too little, when either something necessary is wanting, or what is there is too weak to serve its purpose. And does not learning show the same defects, disquieting to a State, when the necessary professional men are wanting either in number or in worthiness; where show takes the place of sound stuff; where in place of real learning only superficial knowledge is sought, enough to make a shift with; when necessary professions are despised and trampled under foot, because the cursory student has to post away in haste; when there is a lack of needful books to further learning, and those we have are of little use owing to insufficiency of treatment? This corruption in learning any man may see who desires to seek out either the malady or its cure; it is a breach of proportion, and therefore of peace, in a commonwealth, a pining evil which consumes by starving.

As for diversity in matters of learning, I think that as it proceeds from differences in ability, in upbringing, in intelligence, in judgment, because these are much finer in some than in others, it does a great deal of harm to the peace of any State, especially where its leaders, though they may not fall out, but merely express their opinions, yet divide studies according to their favourites, considering the importance of the subjects less than the attraction of the authors. If this diversity breaks out in earnest, as it has frequently done in our time, while printing itself, which in its natural and best uses is the instrument of necessity and the exponent of learning, becomes very often too easy an outlet for vaunting ambition, for malicious envy and revenge, for all passions to all purposes, what a sore blow is given to the public quiet, when the means to welfare is made an instrument of distemper! For will not he fight in his fury who brawls in his books? Do not those minds seem armed for open conflict—nay, do they not arm others too by pressing enmity forward—which in private studies enter into combats on paper; which by too much eagerness make a great ado in matters better quenched than stirred to life; which whet their wits beforehand to be wranglers ever after, and as far as lies in them disturb the general welfare? What I disapprove of is needless combats in learning; those that are fruitful may go on, yet with no more passion than common civility and Christian charity will allow. Excess overburdens, defect weakens, diversity distracts, but dissension destroys. You know yourselves, my learned readers, what a wonderful stir there is daily in your schools, through diverging opinions in logic, in philosophy, in mathematics, in physics. The lawyer generally abstains from controversal writing, because he does not gain by it what he seeks; pleading in the Common Courts offers a better pasture for a lean purse than a busy pen. The dissension in divinity is specially fierce, the more so because it often falls out that the adversaries intermingle their own passions with the matters they treat of. For while our religious doctrines sometimes require defence, disputes might often be compounded, if men’s feelings were as readily cooled as they are inflamed. But in the meanwhile how greatly is the general peace disturbed by dissensions that turn aside a worthy means, to maintain a wrong and become a slave to some inordinate passion! I cannot enter fully upon this subject, but touch upon it merely that my good readers may understand how much my desire for the furtherance of learning was increased after I had noticed these inconveniences, though at first I meant only to help the teaching of the learned tongues. Agreement among the learned is the mother of general contentment; by carping and contradicting they trouble the world and taint themselves, bearing all the while the name of Christians—a title which enjoins us to avoid contention, even by the submission of those who are wronged, and charges us to defend our religion, not with passionate minds, but with the armour of patience and truth. These were the blemishes which I saw by the way, and lamented in the body of learning. The amendment which I desire rests upon two great pillars—the professors of learning, who must give intelligence of the error, and the principal magistrates—nay, even the sovereign prince—who being God’s great instruments to procure quietness for our souls and bodies, our goods and actions, must bring about redress in so important a matter as the course of learning.

The prince may cut off what is in excess, make up what is deficient, reconcile diversities, expel dissensions, by his lawful authority for the general good; and everyone will submit, because everyone is benefited. This, indeed, confirms Plato’s saying that kings should be philosophers; that is, that all magistrates should be learned. It is a great corrosive to the whole body of learning, which is the procurer of peace, when those who have to direct gain their wisdom only through experience. That is much, but experience and learning together make the better equipment. It is an honourable conception, besides that it tends to the general good, for a learned and virtuous prince, assisted by wise counsel, to reduce the number of those that follow learning, by some principle of selection in every department, to decide what kinds of learning are most useful to the State, and to appoint a reasonable number of such books as have the best methods of treatment. The final authority in regard to every profession has always lain with the prince. Action has been taken before in all the directions I have spoken of, both by consent of the learned and by command of good princes. As our country is small, the thing could be the more easily done; as our livings are limited, it is the more needful; as the evil is great, we are the less able to bear it; as our sovereign is learned, we shall be the readier to give ear; as our people are of good understanding, they are the better able to inform her. But as the physician does not thrive by the prevention of disease, nor the lawyer grow rich by arresting contentions, nor a divine prosper so much in a heaven where all is good as on earth where all is evil, and as private profit will be followed, though it bring confusion to the State, redress will not stir, because it judges the world to be in some fault which it is loth to confess. However, to secure some redress and help in this matter at the hand of the ruler, is the duty of all who make a profession of learning, if they will but consider the reputation of learning in our day, whether from the contempt in which some professions are held, or from a deficiency in those who enter them.

In the professors of learning, to whose solicitation this point is recommended, two things are chiefly required. First, that with minds given to peace they should study soundly themselves, and that the matter be worthy and taken in due order. For sound learning will not so soon be shaken at every eager point of controversy as that which is shallow. Orderly progress gives security, and a pacific temper furthers the end that is desired both privately and publicly. The consent of the learned and their quiet inclination are a great blessing to any Commonwealth, but especially to ours in this contentious time, when overwhetted minds do very little good to some worthy professions. The distracting division of minds into sects and sorts of philosophy did much injury in the countries where it befel, and those nations among which religious dissensions arose have never been quiet since. The second point required in a student is not to seek his own advancement so much as that of the things he professes, and indeed the possession of these things is the best means to advance himself, for, where ignorance is blamed, knowledge is approved, even though the approver may not be learned. He who studies soundly recommends letters by his own example; he who solicits the help of those in authority advances learning still further; he who uses his pen to strengthen the best current of opinion proves the genuineness of his desire by his own practice. In this last form my own labour seeks to recommend uniformity, to strip off what is needless, to supply some defects, to help everyone to as quiet a course as I can temper my style to.

The second question which I said might be demanded of me, why I do not follow the precedent of those learned writers who have handled the subject with great admiration may be very soon answered. I admit that the number of those who have written upon the upbringing of children might be considered sufficient, and I grant the excellence of many of them, such as Bembus, Sturmius, and Erasmus. But the situation is different. A free city and a country under a monarchy are not in the same position, though they agree in some general respects, in which indeed these writers do not dissent from me. Nor do I fail to follow good writers, taking example from those authors who taught all the later ones to write so well. I am the servant of my country; for her sake I labour, her circumstances I must consider, and whatsoever I shall pen I shall myself see it carried out, by the grace of God, in order the better to persuade others by offering the proof of trial.

The third question, as to my writing in English, and my being so careful—I will not say fastidious—in expression, concerns me more nearly, for it has some importance. It is the opinion of some that we should not treat any philosophical subject, or any ordinary subject in a philosophical manner, in the English tongue, because the unlearned find it too difficult to understand in any case, and the learned, holding it in little esteem, get no pleasure from it. In regard both to writing in English generally, and my own writing in particular, I have this to say: No one language is finer than any other naturally, but each becomes cultivated by the efforts of the speaker who, using such opportunities as are afforded by the kind of government under which he lives, endeavours to garnish it with eloquence, and enrich it with learning. Such a tongue, elegant in form and learned in matter, while it keeps within its natural soil, not only serves its immediate purpose with just admiration, but in foreigners who become acquainted with it, it kindles a great desire to have their own language resemble it. Thus it came to pass that the people of Athens beautified their speech in the practice of pleading, and enriched it with all kinds of knowledge, bred both within Greece and outside of it. Thus it came to pass that the people of Rome, having formed their practice in imitation of the Athenian, became enamoured with the eloquence of those from whom they were borrowing, and translated their learning also. However, there was not nearly the same amount of learning in the Latin tongue during the time of the Romans as there is at this day by the industry of students throughout the whole of Europe, who use Latin as a common means of expression, both in original works and in translations. Roman authority first planted Latin among us here, by force of their conquest, and its use in matters of learning causes it to continue. Therefore the so-called Latin tongues have their own peoples to thank, both for their own cultivation at home and for the favour they enjoy abroad. So it falls out that, as we are profited by means of these tongues, we should pay them honour, and yet not without cherishing our own, in regard both to cases where the usage is best and to those where it is open to improvement. For did not these tongues use even the same means to cultivate themselves before they proved so beautiful? Did the people shrink from putting into their own language the ideas they borrowed from foreign sources? If they had done so, we should never have had the works we so greatly admire.

There are two chief reasons which keep Latin, and to some extent other learned tongues, in high consideration among us,—the knowledge which is registered in them, and their use as a means of communication, in both speaking and writing, by the learned class throughout Europe. While these two benefits are retained, if there is anything else that can be done with our own tongue, either in beautifying it, or in turning it to practical account, we cannot but take advantage of it, even though Latin should thus be displaced, as it displaced others, bequeathing its learning to us. For is it not indeed a marvellous bondage, to become servants to one tongue for the sake of learning, during the greater part of our time, when we can have the very same treasure in our own language, which forms the joyful title to our liberty, as the Latin reminds us of our thraldom? I love Rome, but I love London better; I favour Italy, but I favour England more; I honour the Latin tongue, but I worship the English. I wish everything were in our tongue which the learned tongues gained from others, nor do I wrong them in treating them as they did their predecessors, teaching us by their example how boldly we may venture, notwithstanding the opinion of some among us, who desire rather to please themselves with a foreign language that they know, than to profit their country in their own language, which they ought to know. It is no argument to say: Will you dishonour those tongues which have honoured you, and without which you could never have enjoyed the learning of which you propose to rob them? For I honour them still, as much as any one, even in wishing my own tongue to be a partaker of their honour. For if I did not hold them in great admiration, because I know their value, I would not think it any honour for my own language to imitate their grace. I wish we had the stores with which they furnished themselves from foreign sources. For the tongues that we study were not the first getters, though by learned labour they prove to be good keepers, and they are ready to discharge their trust, in handing on to others what was committed to them for a term, and not in perpetuity. There can be no disgrace in their delivering to others what they received on that understanding. The dishonour will lie rather with the tongue that refuses to receive the inheritance intended for it and duly offered to it, and from this dishonour I would our language were free. I admit the good fortune of those tongues that had so great a start over others that they are most welcome wherever they set foot, and are always admired for their rare excellence, disposing all men to think little of any form of speech that does not resemble them, and to rank even the best of these as marvellously behind them. The diligent labour of the learned men of ancient times so enriched their tongues that they proved very pliable, as I am assured our own will prove, if our learned fellow-countrymen will bestow their labour on it. And why, I pray you, should such labour not be bestowed on English, as well as on Latin or any other language? Will you say it is needless? Certainly that will not hold. If loss of time over tongues, while you are pilgrims to learning, is no injury, or lack of sound skill, while language distracts the mind from the sense, especially with the foolish and inexperienced, then there might be some ground for holding it needless. But since there was no need for the present loss of time in study through labouring with tongues, and since our understanding is more perfect in our natural speech, however well we may know the foreign language, methinks necessity itself calls for English, by which all that bravery may be had at home that makes us gaze so much at the fine stranger. But you will say it is uncouth; so it is, through being unused. So was it with Latin, and so it is with every language. Cicero himself, the paragon of Rome while he was alive, and our best pattern now though he is dead, had great wrestling with such wranglers, and their disdain of their natural speech, before he won from the public of his time the opinion in which he was held by the best of his friends then, and is held by us now. Are not all his prefaces to his philosophical writings full of such conflicts with these cavillers? English wits are very well able, thank God, if the good will were present, to make that uncouth and unknown learning very familiar to our people in our own tongue, even by the example of those very writers we esteem so highly, who having done for other languages what I wish for ours in the like case, must needs approve of us, unless they assert that the merit of conveying knowledge from a foreign tongue died with them, not to revive among us. But whatever they may say to continue their own credit, our fellow-countrymen cannot but think that it is our praise to obtain by purchase and transplanting into our own tongue what they were so desirous to place in theirs, and are now so loth to forgo again; it is indeed the fairest flower of their whole garland, for these tongues would wither soon, or decay altogether, but for the great knowledge contained therein. If our people were not readier to wonder at their workmanship than to take trouble with their own tongue, they might have the same advantage. Our English is our own, and must be used by those to whom it belongs, as were those others that were ranked with the best.

But it may be replied that our English tongue is not worthy of such cultivation, because it has so little extent, stretching no further than this island of ours, and not even over the whole of that. What though this be true? Still it reigns here and serves our purpose; it should be brushed clean in order to be worn. Are not English folk, I pray you, as particular as foreigners? And is not as much taste needed for our tongue in speaking, and our pen in writing, as for apparel and diet? But, it will be said, our State is no empire, hoping to enlarge itself by ruling other countries. What then? Though it be neither large in possession, nor in present hope of great increase, yet where it rules it can make good laws to suit its position, as well as the largest country can, and often better, since in the greatest governments there is often confusion.

But again, it will be urged, we have no rare knowledge belonging to our soil to make foreigners study our tongue as a treasure of such store. What of that? We are able by its means to apply to our use all the great treasure both of foreign soil and of foreign language. And why may not English wits, if they will bend their wills to seek matter and method, be as much sought after by foreign students for the increase of their knowledge as our soil is already sought after by foreign merchants for the increase of their wealth? As the soil is fertile because it is cultivated, so the wits are not barren, if they choose to bring forth.

Yet though all this be true, we are in despair of ever seeing our own language so refined as were those where public orations were held in ordinary course, and the very tongue itself made a chariot to honour. Our State is a monarchy, which controls language, and teaches it to please; our religion is Christian, and prefers the naked truth to refinement of terms. What then? If for want of that exercise which the Athenian and the Roman enjoyed in their spacious courts, no Englishman should prove to be a Cicero or a Demosthenes, yet in truth he may prove comparable to them in his own commonwealth and in the eloquence that befits it. And why not indeed comparable to them in all points that concern his natural tongue? Our brain can bring forth; our ideas will bear life; our tongues are not tied, and our labour is our own. And eloquence itself is limited neither to one language nor to one soil; the whole world is its measure, and the wise ear is its judge, having regard not to greatness of state, but to the capacity of the people. And even though we should despair of altogether rivalling the excellence of foreign tongues, must our own therefore be unbeautified? It should certainly strive to reach its best if I could help. We may aspire to come to a certain height, even though we can pass no further. The nature of our government will admit true speaking and writing, and eloquence will be approved if it gives pleasure and is worthy of praise, so long as it preaches peace, and tends to preserve the State. Our religion does not condemn any ornament of language which serves the truth and does not presume overmuch. Nay, may not eloquence be a great blessing from God, and the trumpet of his honour, as Chrysostom calls that of St. Paul, if it be religiously bent? Those who have read the story of the early church find that eloquence in the primitive Christians overthrew great forces bent against our faith, and persuaded numbers to embrace the cause, when the power of truth was joined to force in the word. We should seek eloquence to serve God, but shun it to serve ourselves, unless we have God’s warrant.

But will you thus break off communication with learned foreigners by banishing Latin, and putting her learning into your own tongue? Communication will not cease while people have cause to interchange dealings, and it may easily be continued without Latin. Already in some countries, whose languages are akin to the Latin, the learned class are weaning their tongues and pens from the use of Latin, both in written discourse and spoken disputation, to their own natural speech. It is a question not of disgracing Latin, but of gracing our own language. Why should we honour a stranger more than our own, if the purpose be served? And although, on account of the limitations of our language, no foreigner would seek to borrow from us as we do from other tongues, because we devise nothing new, though we receive the old, yet we ourselves gain very much in study by being set from the first in the privy chambers of knowledge, through the familiarity of our native speech. Justinian the emperor said to the students of law, when he gave imperial force to his Institutes, that they were most happy in the advantage of hearing the Emperor’s voice at first hand, while those of earlier times were delayed for four whole years. And does not our study of foreign languages take us fully four years? If this were the only hindrance indeed, and if we gained otherwise, we could bear the loss. But it is not only time that is lost in studying foreign tongues, though we must use them till we learn to do without them. Who can deny that we understand best in our natural speech, seeing that all our foreign learning is applied through the medium of our own language, and learning is of value only in so far as it is applied to particular uses?

But why not everything in English, a tongue in itself both deep in meaning and frank in utterance? I do not think that any language whatsoever is better able to express all subjects with pith and plainness, if he who uses it is as skilful and well-instructed as the foreigner. Methinks I myself could prove this in regard to the most varied subjects, though I am no great scholar, but only an earnest well-wisher to my own country. And though in dealing with certain subjects we must use many foreign terms, we are only doing what is done in the most renowned languages, that boast of their skill and knowledge. It is a necessity between one country and another to interchange words to express strange matter, and rules are appointed for adapting them to the use of the borrowers. It is an accident which keeps our tongue from natural growth out of its own resources, and not the real nature of the language, which could strain with the strongest and stretch to the furthest, either for the purposes of government, if we were conquerors, or for learning if we were its treasurers, no whit behind the subtle Greek for couching close, or the stately Latin for spreading fair. Our tongue is capable of all, if our people would bestow pains upon it. The very soil of Greece, it is noted by some, had a refining influence on Philelphus, who was born in Italy. Italy, says Erasmus, would have had the same effect on our Sir Thomas More, if he had been trained there. And cannot labour and practice work as great wonders in English wits at home as the air can do abroad? Is a change of soil the best or the only means of furthering growth? Nay, surely wits are equally sharp everywhere, though where there is less intercourse and a heavier climate, the labour must be greater to make up for what is wanting in nature. If such pains be taken we may boldly arm ourselves with that two-worded and thrice worthy question—Why not? But grant that it were an heresy, seeing that we are trained in foreign tongues, even to wish everything to be in English. Certainly there is no fault in handling in English what is proper to England, though the same subject well handled in Latin would be likely to please Latinists. But an English benefit must not be measured by the pleasure of a Latinist. It is a matter not for scholars to play with, but for students to practise, where everyone can judge. Besides, how many shallow things are often uttered in Latin and other foreign tongues, which under the bare veil of a strange form seem to be something, but if they were expressed in English, and the mask pulled off so that everyone could see them, would make but a sorry show, and soon be disclaimed even by those who uttered them, with some thought of the old saying—“Had I known, I would not!” And were it not better to gain judgment throughout in our own English than either to lose it or hinder it in Latin or any other foreign tongue? Such considerations make me thankful for what we have gained from foreign sources, but at the same time desirous of furthering the interest of my own natural tongue, and therefore in treating of the first rudiments of learning I am very well content to make use of English, without renouncing my right to use Latin or any other learned tongue, when I come to speak of matters where it may be suitable.

But while my writing in English may seem not amiss for the service of my country, my manner of writing may offend some in seeming fastidious and obscure, and I may be brought to task as failing in what I professed, by dealing with matters too hard for the ignorant to understand, or using too close a style and too rare terms for plain folks to follow. All these difficulties are very great foes to the perception of the ordinary man, who can understand only so far as he has been trained, and they are no good friends to my purpose, as I write for the benefit of the many, who are untrained and unskilful. But although these objections make a very plausible show, yet I must beg leave to plead my own cause in regard to matter, style, and the use of terms. Indeed half my answer is given when I say that I mean well to my country, for in attempting difficulties one may claim pardon for defects, and what I do is in the interest of our tongue, which I desire to see enriched in every way and honoured with every ornament of eloquence, so that it can vie with any foreign language.

But first to examine the charge of hardness in the subject-matter, which the reader is said to have difficulty in understanding. In what, I pray you, consists this hardness that is said to lie in the matter? Or rather does not all hardness belong to the person, and not to the thing, in this case as everywhere else? If the person who undertakes to teach does not know his subject well enough to make it properly understood, is the thing therefore hard that is not thoroughly grasped? Or if the learner either fails to understand owing to deficient knowledge, or will not make the needful effort owing to some evil disposition, is the thing therefore hard which is so crossed by personal infirmity? Surely not. There is no hardness in anything which is expressed by a learned pen, however far removed from common use, (though to shield negligence the charge is often made), if the teacher knows it sufficiently, and the learner be willing and not wayward. For what are the things which we handle in learning? Are they not of our own choice? Are they not our own inventions? Are they not meant to supply our own needs? And was not the first inventor very well able to open up the thing he invented before he commended it to others? Or did those who received it do so before they were instructed as to its use? Or could blunt ignorance have won such credit in a doubtful case, though professing to bring advantage, that it was believed before it had persuaded those who had any foresight, by plain evidence that the thing was profitable, as well for the present as for the time to come? If the first inventor could both find and persuade, his follower must do likewise, or be at fault himself; he must deliver the matter from the suspicion of hardness, which arises from his own defect in exposition. If he who reads fails to grasp the meaning through ignorance, he is to be pardoned for his infirmity; if having some capacity he fails from lack of will, he is punished enough by being left in ignorance; and if while able to follow with the best he keeps with the worst, blinded understanding is the greatest darkness, and punishes the evil humour with the depraving of reason. If an expounder, such as I am now, be himself weak, he is ill-advised if he either writes before he knows, or does not mend when he has written amiss, provided he knows where and how. Yet the reader’s courtesy is some protection against error to him who writes, as the writer’s pardon is a protection to him who reads, if simple ignorance is the only fault, without defect in goodwill.

It will be admitted that hardness must arise either from the thing itself or from the handling. If the thing itself is hard it must be because it is strange to the reader, because it is outside of his ordinary interests and occupations, or because he does not give full study and attention to it. To illustrate the former difficulty, what affinity is there, in respect of occupation, between a simple ploughman, a wary merchant, and a subtle lawyer, or between manual trades and metaphysical discourses, whether in mathematics, physics, or divinity? Again, even to students who profess some alliance with what they study, can anything be easy if they have not laboured sufficiently in it? I need say no more than this, that where there is no acquaintance in profession there is no help to understanding, where there is no familiarity there is no facility, where there is no conference there is no knowledge. If the man delves the earth, and the matter dwells in heaven, there is no means of uniting them over so great a distance. But when the understanding, though in affinity, is clearly insufficient, there is far more hardness than where there is a difference of occupation, because a vain conceit brings much more error than weak knowledge. Some good may come out of an ignorant fellow if he begin to take hold, but the lukewarm learned mars his way by prejudiced opinion. But in all this, if there be any difficulty about the matter, its cause lies in the man, and not in the nature of the thing. I am quick in teaching, and hard of understanding, but towards whom and why? Towards him, forsooth, who is not sufficiently acquainted with the matter in hand. Well, then, if want of familiarity is the cause of the difficulty, acquaintance once made and continued will remedy that complaint, if the matter seem worth the man’s acquaintance in his natural tongue, for that is a question in a vision blinded by foreign glamours, or if the learner is really desirous to be rid of his ignorance, for that is another question where a vain opinion over-values itself. For in the case of a book written in the English tongue there are so many Englishmen well able to satisfy fully the ignorant reader, that it were too great a discourtesy not to lighten a man’s labour with a short question, and an equally short answer. But where the matter, being no pleasant tale nor amorous device, but a serious and worthy argument concerning sober learning, not familiar to all readers, or even to all writers, professes no ease without some effort, then if such effort be not made an unnatural idleness is betrayed, which desires less to find ease than to find fault. For why should one labour to help all, and none be willing to help that one? Nay, why should none be willing to help themselves out of the danger and bondage of blind ignorance? If the book were all in Latin, and the reader were not acquainted with a single word, then the case would be desperate, but as it is, any man may compass it with very little inquiry from his skilful neighbour. Therefore if anything seems hard to an ignorant man who desires to know, and fails owing to the unfamiliarity of the subject, he must handle the thing often, so that it may become easy, and when a doubt arises he must confer with those who have more knowledge. For all strange things seem great novelties, and are hard to grasp at their first arrival, but after some acquaintance they become quite familiar, and are easily dealt with. And words likewise which express strange matters, or are strangers themselves, are not wild beasts, nor is a term a tiger to prove wholly untractable. Familiarity and acquaintance will bring facility both in matter and in words.

If the handling seems to cause the difficulty, and if that proceeds from him who presents the argument, not only in the opinion of the unpractised reader, but truly in the view of those who are able to judge, then such a writer is worthy of blame, in seeking to expound without sufficient study; but if the defective handling is due not to the writer, but to plain misunderstanding, then there is small praise to the reader who misconstrues without regard to courtesy or reverence for truth.

As for my style in treatment, if it be charged with difficulty, that also proceeds from choice, being intended to show that I come from the forge, being always familiar with strong steel and pithy stuff in the reading of good writers, and therefore bound to resemble that metal in my style. To argue closely and with sequence, to trace causes and effects, to seek sinews and sound strength rather than waste flesh, is seemly for a student, especially when he writes for perpetuity, where the reader may keep the book by him to study at his leisure, not being forced either to take it all at once or forgo it altogether, as is the case in speech. Discourses that are entirely popular, or are written in haste for the moment, may well be slight in manner, for their life is short; and where what is said is at once to be put to present use, the plainer the style the more plausible it will be, and therefore most excellent in its kind, since the expression must be adapted to the immediate end in view, leaving nothing to muse on, as there is no time for musing. But where the matter is no courier to post away in haste, and there must be musing on it, another course must be taken, and yet the manner of delivery must not be thought hard, nor compared with others of a different kind, considering that it is meant to teach, and can use such plainness only as the subject admits of. Does any man of judgment in learning and in the Latin tongue think that Cicero’s orations and his discourses in philosophy were equally well known and of equal plainness to the people of Rome, though both in their own way are plain enough to us, who know the Latin tongue better than our own, because we pore over it, and pay no attention to our own? Certainly not, as appears from many passages in Cicero himself, where he notes the difference, and confesses that the newness of the subjects which he transported from Greece was the cause of some darkness to the ordinary reader, and of some contempt to the learned because they fancied the Greek more. Yet neither ignorance nor contempt could discourage his pen from seeking the advantage of his own language, by translating into it the learning which others wished to remain in the Greek; he kept on his course, and in the end the tide turned in his favour, bringing him the credit which he enjoys to this day. And he himself bears witness that the resistance he met with was due not only to the matter of which he treated, but also to his manner of expression, and even to the very words he used, which being strange and newly-coined were not understood by the ordinary reader. “I could write of these things,” he says, meaning philosophical subjects, “like Amasanius” (an obscure writer of apophthegms) “but in that case not like myself; as plainly as he, but not then so as to satisfy myself, or do justice to the subject as I should handle it. I must define, divide, distinguish, exercise judgment, and use the terms of art. I must have regard as well to those from whom my learning is borrowed, that they may say they meant it so, as to those for whom it is borrowed, that they may say they understand it.”

The writer who does otherwise may be thought plain by those who seek nothing far, but if those who call for plainness are always to be pleased, and dealt with so daintily that they are put to no pains to learn and enquire, when they find themselves in a difficulty through their own ignorance; if they must be made a lure for learning to descend to, rather degenerating herself than teaching them to look up, what is the use of skill? He who made the earth made hills and dales, heights and plains, smooth places and rough, and yet all good of their own kind. Plainness is good for a pleasant course, and a popular style is in place in ordinary argument, where no art is needed because the reader knows none, and the matter can be simply expressed, being indeed in her best colours when she is dressed for common purposes. Likewise this alleged hardness, though it belong to the matter, has its special use in whetting people’s wits, and making a deep impression, where what seems dark contains something that must be considered thrice before it is mastered.

Labour is the coin which is current in heaven, for which and by which Almighty God sells His best wares, though in His great goodness He sometimes does more for some in giving them quickness and intelligence, even without great labour, than any labour can do for others, in order to let us know that His mercy is the mistress when our labour learns best. But in our ordinary life, if carpeting be knighting, where is necessary defence? If easy understanding be the readiest learning, then wake not my lady; she learns as she lies. If all things are hard which everyone thinks to be so, where is the privilege and benefit of study? What is the use of study, if what we get by labour is condemned as too hard for those that do not study. I will not allege that the learned men of old made use of obscure expressions in matters of religion in order to win reverence towards a subject that belonged to another world and could not be fully dealt with in ordinary speech, nor that the old wisdom was expressed in riddles, proverbs, fables, oracles, and mystic verses, in order to draw men on to study, and fix in the memory what was carefully considered before it was uttered. Are any of our oldest and best writers whom we now study, and who have been thought the greatest, each in his kind, ever since they first wrote, understood at once after a single reading, even though those who are studying them know their tongue as well as we know English—nay, even better, because it is more intricate? Or is their manner of writing to be disapproved of as dark, because the ignorant reader or fastidious student cannot straightway rush into it? That they fell into that compressed kind of writing owing to their very pith in saying much where they speak least, is clearly shown by the comments of those who expand at great length what was set down in one short sentence—nay, even in a single phrase of a sentence. Are not all the chief paragons and principal leaders in every profession of this same character, inaccessible to ordinary people, even though using the same language, and giving of their store only to those who will study?

But may not this obscurity lie in him who finds it rather than in the matter, which is simple in itself, and simply expressed, though it may not seem so to him? Our daintiness deceives us, our want of goodwill blinds us—nay, our lack of skill is the very witch which bereaves us of sense, though we profess to have knowledge and favour towards learning. For everyone who bids a book good-morrow is not necessarily a scholar, or a judge of the subject dealt with in the book. He may have studied up to a certain point, but perhaps neither hard nor long, or he may be very little acquainted with the subject he is seeking to judge of. Perhaps the desire of preferment has cut short his study when it was most promising, or there is some other of the many causes of weakness, although pretension may impose upon the world with a show of learning. Any man may judge well of a matter which he has sufficiently studied, and thoroughly practised (if it be a study that requires practice), and has regarded in its various relations. A pretty skill in some particular direction will sometimes glance beyond, and show a smattering of further knowledge, but no further than a glance, no more than a smattering. Therefore, in my judgment of another man’s writings, so much only is just as I should be able to prove soundly, if I were seriously challenged by those who can judge, not so much as I may venture uncontrolled, in seeking merely to please myself or those as ignorant as myself. Apelles could admit the opinion of the cobbler, so far as his knowledge of cobbling justified him, but not an inch further.

As for my manner of writing, if I do not meet expectation, I have always some warrant, for I write rather with regard to the essence of the matter in hand than to superficial effect. For however it may be in speech, and in that kind of writing which resembles speech, being adapted to ordinary subjects with an immediate practical end, certainly where the matter has to stand a more lasting test, and be tried by the hammer of learned criticism, there should be precision, orderly method, and carefully chosen expression, every word having its due force, and every sentence being well and deliberately weighed. Such writing, though it may be without esteem in our age through the triviality of the time, may yet win it in another, when its value is appreciated. Some hundreds of years may pass before saints are enshrined, or books gain their full authority.

As for the general writing in the English tongue, I must needs say that for some points of handling there is no language more excellent than ours. For teaching memory work pleasantly, as in the old leonine verses, which run in rhyme, it admits more dalliance with words than any other tongue I know. In firmness of speech and strong ending it is very forcible, because of the monosyllabic words of which it so largely consists. For fine translation in pithy terms I find it as quick as any foreign tongue, or quicker, as it is wonderfully pliable and ready to express a pointed thought in very few words. For apt expression of a good deal of matter in not many words it will do as much in original utterance as in any translation. This compact expression may sometimes seem hard, but only where ignorance is harboured, or where indolence is an idol, which will not be persuaded to crack the nut, though it covet the kernel. I need give no example of these, as my own writing will serve as a general pattern. No one can judge so well of these points in our tongue as those who find matter flowing from their pen which refuses to be expressed in any other form. For our tongue has a special character as well as every other, and cannot be surpassed for grace and pith.

In regard to the force of words, which was the third note of alleged obscurity, there are to be considered familiarity for the general reader, beauty for the learned, effectiveness to give pleasure, and borrowing to extend our resources and admit of ready expression. Therefore, if any reader find fault with a word which does not suit his ear, let him mark the one he knows, and learn to value the other, which is worth his knowing. Do we not learn from words? No marvel if it is so, for a word is a metaphor, a learned translation, something carried over from its original sense to serve in some place where it is even more properly used, and where it may be most significant, if it is properly understood. Take pains to learn from it; you have there a means of gaining knowledge. It is not commonly used as I am using it, but I trust I am not abusing it, and it may be filling a more stately place than any you have ever seen it in. Then mark that the place honours the parson, and think well of good words, for though they may be handled by ordinary, or even by foul lips, yet in a fairer mouth, or under a finer pen, they may come to honour. It may be a stranger, and yet no Turk, and though it were the word of an enemy, yet a good thing is worth getting, even from a foe, as well by the language of writers as by the spoil of soldiers. And when the foreign word has yielded itself and been received into favour, it is no longer foreign, though of foreign race, the property in it having been altered. But he who will speak of words need not lack them. However, in this place there is no further need of words, to say either which are familiar, or beautiful, or effective, or which are borrowed; nor is there need to say that in regard to any ornament in words we give place to no other tongue.

As for my own words and the terms that I use, they are generally English, and if any be an incorporated stranger, or translated, or freshly-coined, I have shaped it to fit the place where I use it, as far as my skill will permit. The example and precept of the best judges warrant us in enfranchising foreign words, or translating our own without too manifest insolence or wanton affectation, or else inventing new ones where they are clearly serviceable, the context explaining them sufficiently till frequent usage has made them well known. Therefore, to say what I mean in plain terms, he who is soundly learned will straightway recognise a scholar; he who is well acquainted with a strong pen, whether in reading authors or in actual use, will soon master a compact style; he who has skill in language, whether old and scholarly or newly received into favour, will not wonder at words whose origin he knows, nor be surprised at a thought tersely expressed, in a way familiar to him in other languages. Therefore, as I fear not the judgment of the skilful, because courtesy goes with knowledge, so I value their friendship, because their support gives me credit.

As for those who lack the skill to judge rightly, though they may be sharp censors and ready to talk loudly, I must crave their pardon if I do not bow to their censure, which I cannot accept as a true judgment. Yet I am content to bear with such fellows, and pardon them their errors in regard to myself, as I trust that those who can judge will in their courtesy pardon me my own errors. Those who cannot judge rightly for want of knowledge, but will not betray their weakness by judging wrongly, if they desire to learn in any case of doubt, have the learned to give them counsel. The profit is theirs, if they are willing to take it, but if not, they shall not deter me from writing, and I shall hope at length by deserving well to win their favour, or at least their silence. In conclusion as to the manner of writing and use of words in English, this is my opinion, that he who will justify himself may find many arguments, some closely related to the particular subject that may be in question, others more general but likely to be serviceable, and if in his practice he hath due regard to clear and appropriate expression, then even though one or two things should seem strange to those who judge, the writer is free from blame. As for invention in matter and eloquence in style, the learned know well in what writers they are to be found, and those who are not scholars must learn to think of such things before they presume to judge, lest by failing to measure the writer’s level, they should have no just standard to apply. As for the matter itself which is to be treated by any learned method, as I have already said, familiarity will make it easy, though it seem hard, just as it will make the manner of expression easy, though it seem strange, if the thing really deserves to be studied, which will not appear until some progress is made. And a little hardness, even in the most obscure philosophical discussions, will never seem tedious to an enquiring mind, such as he must have who either seeks to learn himself, or desires to see his native tongue enriched and made the instrument of all his knowledge, as well as of his ordinary needs.

But I have been too tedious, my good readers, yet perhaps not so, since no haste is enjoined, and you may read at leisure. I have now to request you, as I mentioned at first, to grant me your friendly construction, and the favour due to a fellow-countryman. The reverence towards learning which leads the good student to embrace her in his youth, and advances him to honour by her preference in later years, will plead for me with the learned in general, in my endeavour to assert the rights of her by whose authority alone they are themselves of any account. Among my fellow-teachers I may hope that community of interest will help me more with the courteous and learned than a foolish feeling of rivalry will harm me with ignorant and spiteful detractors. Regard for my own profession, and this hope of support from learned teachers, move me to lay stress upon one special point, which in duty must affect them no less than me, namely, the need for careful thought in improving our schools. I say nothing here of the conscientious and religious motives that influence us, nor of the need for personal maintenance that demands our labour. But I would acknowledge the special munificence of our princes and parliaments towards our whole order in our country’s behalf, partly in suffering us to enjoy old immunities, partly in granting us divers other exemptions from personal services and ordinary payments to which our fellow-subjects are liable. These favours deserve at our hands an honourable remembrance, and bind us further to discharge the trust committed to us. I doubt not that this feeling which moves me strongly, moves also many of my profession, whose friendship I crave for favourable construction, and whose conference I desire for help in experience, as I shall be glad in the common cause either to persuade or be persuaded. Of those that are not learned I beg friendship also, and chiefly as a matter of right, because I labour for them, and my goodwill deserves no unthankfulness. God bless us all to the advancement of His glory, the honour of our country, the furtherance of good learning, and the well-being of all ranks, prince and people alike!

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CRITICAL ESTIMATE.

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If the saying of Plato may be applied to another sphere, not very far removed from civil government, we may believe that education will never be rightly practised until either teachers become philosophers, or philosophers become teachers. It is certainly remarkable how seldom in the history of educational progress there has arisen any writer whose authority was based alike on the power of the abstract thinker to rise above the conditions of the immediate present into the atmosphere of pure reason, and on the instinct of the professional worker, whose conceptions of what is possible have been chastened by direct experience of the actual. Of the five classical English writers who have made any noteworthy contribution to educational thought, all but one have failed to gain a lasting influence, through the limitation in their outlook caused by deficient practical knowledge. Ascham’s experience was too exclusively academic and courtly to suggest much to him beyond questions of method in the advanced teaching of Latin and Greek. Milton’s vision, restricted by his short and partial attempt at instructing a few selected boys, narrowed itself to one school period of one rank of society of one sex, and his genius could not save him from wild extravagance in his ideas of the acquirements possible for the average scholar. The suggestions of Locke, while in one aspect they were more comprehensive, are yet essentially those of a theorist, who had never faced the difficulty that the upbringing of a child by a private tutor is possible only to the merest fraction of any population. Herbert Spencer, as the heir of previous centuries, has naturally been able to command a wider view, but even those who have gained most from his book, must have felt that owing to his highly generalised mode of treatment he has at many points failed to grapple with the problems that chiefly beset the professional teacher. A little experience, like a little knowledge, is a dangerous thing, and it may be that those writers, all of whom claim to have made trial of the actual work of education, would have been more convincing if they had written from an avowedly detached standpoint. Richard Mulcaster alone holds the vantage-ground of being at once a thinker and a practical expert in matters of education. Nor does this mean only that his right to speak with authority will for that reason be more readily admitted; the evidence of his fuller equipment for the task may be seen through the whole texture of his writings. He had not Ascham’s ease in expression and charm of manner, nor Milton’s commanding intellect and power of utterance, nor the fearlessness and philosophic grasp of Locke, nor the encyclopædic knowledge and acumen of Herbert Spencer, but he had beyond them all two essential gifts that will in the end give him a unique place in the history of our educational development—a clear insight into the realities of human nature, and an enlightened perception of the conditions that determine the culture of mind and soul.

To those who know little or nothing of Mulcaster such a claim will seem extravagant, and it will naturally be doubted whether any writer who deserves to be put upon so high a pedestal, could possibly have remained so long in neglect. It may be rejoined that in a subject like education many factors have a part in the making of reputations. It is no mere coincidence that the authors named above, whose views on education are so much more widely-known than those of Mulcaster, all gained their chief fame in some other sphere of thought; we read what they have to say on this subject because it comes from writers who have caught the world’s ear in some field of more general interest. This advantage is naturally to be associated with gifts of expression such as Mulcaster unfortunately possessed only in a very limited degree, though his deficiency is due much more to the rudimentary condition of English prose in general in the sixteenth century, than to any lack of clear thinking on his own part. It is true, indeed, that no fine sense of harmony in sound can be credited to a writer who perpetrates such a sentence as—“I say no more, where it is too much to say even so much in a sore of too much.” But even if Mulcaster had spoken with the tongue of an angel, he would probably have remained a voice crying in the wilderness, for the time was not yet come. The ultimate value of Rousseau’s message to the world in the realm of education was far less, but his unique powers of persuasive eloquence, the fame he had achieved in other ways, and the ripeness of the time, combined to give the later writer an extraordinary influence. When Mulcaster’s judgments and suggestions are studied from the vantage-ground of the present, and in a form that divests them of adventitious difficulties of understanding, they will be recognised as giving him a place of high importance, not only in the chain of historical succession, but in the final hierarchy of educational reformers.

It is necessary to take into account the state of opinion on matters of learning and on the general conduct of life, in the England of Queen Elizabeth’s day, before we can appreciate the significance of our author’s thought. We must place ourselves in the atmosphere of the Renascence and the Reformation, for although these great movements, which represented the intellectual and moral aspects in the awakening of modern Europe, had been some time in progress, and had even given place to reaction in the countries of their birth, their full influence did not reach our shores till towards the close of the sixteenth century. The phase of English national life represented by Mulcaster is that immediately preceding the great expansion of conscious mental activity to which voice was so memorably given by Spenser, Shakespeare, Bacon, and their contemporaries. The prestige of Elizabeth, depending as it did so largely on the secure establishment of the Protestant faith, had not yet reached the height it attained through the final repulse of Spanish aggression, but yet the power of the crown retained much of the absolute sway over individual freedom that had been built up and impressed on the popular imagination by the earlier Tudors. It was not a time either of revolt or of reaction. The more galling forms of political and intellectual despotism had already disappeared in the general overthrow of the medieval régime, and it was a more pressing question how to maintain existing charters of liberty than how to extend them. This conservative temper is to be discerned in all the purely English writers of the period, though in the northern part of Britain Knox and his companions were troubling the waters of controversy in a more strenuous fashion.

Apart from the influence of an atmosphere of general conformity to established authority and prevailing sentiment, Mulcaster was constitutionally cautious. He was no zealot, defiant of opposition, and careless of the esteem in which he might be held. His respect for tradition, and, it must be added, his sympathetic instincts, disposed him always to seek grounds of agreement rather than of difference, to support his suggestions by the weight of authority and precedent, to carry his readers with him by winning their consent unawares rather than by startling them into reluctant acquiescence through the use of paradox and exaggeration. Yet there was no timidity or half-heartedness in his temperament. He was profoundly convinced of the justice of his criticisms and the value of his proposals, and he was not backward in urging his views, in season at least if not out of season, on all who shared the responsibility of rejecting them or giving them effect. He has been accused, indeed, of overweening self-conceit, and it is to be feared that this is the only persistent impression of the man that remains with a number of those who know little of him beyond his name. He has been cited as a classical example of the folly into which a misplaced vanity can lead one who enters with a light heart into the region of prophecy, that “most gratuitous form of error,” on the ground that he believed the highest possible perfection of English prose to be represented by the style of his own writings. This conception, however, is due to a misunderstanding which it will be worth while to remove. The remark that is quoted against him occurs in the Peroration of the Elementary, “I need no example in any of these, whereof mine own penning is a general pattern.” Taken apart from the context, as it usually is, such a sentence sounds fatuous enough, being naturally understood to mean that Mulcaster thought he had nothing to learn from any other writers, and had himself devised a perfect model of English composition. But anyone who will take the trouble to read the whole passage (p. 201) will see at once that the statement really means, “I need give no example of any of these [idiosyncrasies of our language, especially compactness of expression], as they are sufficiently illustrated in my own writing.” This is a very different matter, and though Mulcaster had little sense of style, and was curiously mistaken in his idea that English prose had no greater heights to reach than the standard of his own time, the error was due to defects of literary taste and judgment, not of character or temper. When his writings are taken as a whole, they offer ample evidence that he was singularly modest in his pretensions, losing all self-consciousness in his enthusiasm for the causes he had at heart.

This attitude may account for the disposition in some quarters to deny Mulcaster any special originality in regard to his leading principles. But in a subject like education, which concerns so many departments of life and character, what is the precise meaning of originality? As the essential traits of human nature have remained unaltered in the last two or three thousand years, except for a slow development along lines in continuity with the past, it is vain to expect that the broader truths which underlie the arts of social improvement will be subject to any radical change. In such matters we must build on the wisdom of the ancients, and the only possible originality consists in discerning the new applications that are suited to the present time and place. It is safe to say that there is hardly a single educational doctrine that has ever won acceptance, the germs of which are not to be found in the writings of Plato and Aristotle. Yet every age and every country must work out its own salvation by choosing, combining, and applying to its needs the general principles that have been laid down by those that came before. Such eclecticism, if it cannot strictly be called originality, is at least the highest wisdom, and he who first proclaims the doctrine as true for his own time and place deserves the credit of the pioneer. The discoveries of the Greek philosophers in social politics, if discoveries they could be called, had to be made over again for the modern world, and it may even be said that they had to be made independently for each separate country. In the sixteenth century there was less uniformity in political and social conditions, and less mutual influence among the different States of Europe than there is now. Although the English nation under Elizabeth could not remain wholly unaffected by the more drastic changes of opinion and sentiment that marked the course of the reforming spirit in Germany and in Scotland, it certainly demanded a rare sagacity and independence of mind, if not absolute originality, to discern how far the new outlook could be shared by those whose experience had been less revolutionary. To understand the value of Mulcaster’s work it is of less moment to ask what may have been his indebtedness to Plato or Quintilian, or even to Luther and Knox, than to consider whether he had been directly anticipated by any of his own countrymen, and whether he himself anticipated, if he did not influence, later English writers on education.

A right estimate of Mulcaster’s temperament, and of his relation to the surrounding conditions of thought and feeling, is due not only as a matter of personal justice, but as affording a key to a proper estimate of his writings. For these have a significance beyond that of most works of the kind, in forming a somewhat unique record of historical facts for a bygone period. The attempt to trace the lines of progress by comparing one phase of culture with another, has hitherto had imperfect success in the sphere of education, for, like the arts of music and acting, it works in a perishable medium, and makes a direct impression only on a single generation. Even indirect testimony has until recently been almost entirely wanting. To hardly any writer of earlier times has it occurred to make any report of the actual conduct of teaching as it existed around him, for the benefit of future ages. Those who were interested in the subject have been more concerned to offer speculative suggestions of reform that have apparently little organic relation to the conditions of their own community. It is not so much to the formal treatises of Plato and Aristotle that we must look for such knowledge as we can obtain of Athenian education in the fourth century before Christ, as to the incidental references of writers who had no thought of conveying any definite or detailed information on the matter. We find the same dearth of evidence when we try to ascertain the actual working of educational methods and organisation in the most advanced countries of Europe during the two or three centuries that succeeded the Renascence. The contemporary writers on the subject are for the most part idealists; and while we gladly acknowledge their services in that capacity, we must regret that to the visionary outlook of the reformer they did not add the careful observation of the historian. If Mulcaster is a noteworthy exception to this rule, it is not because of set purpose he undertook the task of record and criticism. It was no part of his plan to offer any narrative or statistical report; indeed he expressly refrains from commenting on the current practice of teaching, and alludes to it only incidentally. His intention, as with the great majority of educational writers, was to suggest improvements, to propose an ideal; but his responsible position as a headmaster gave him an ever-present sense of what was practicable, and enabled him to base his efforts on the firm ground of accomplished fact. His proposals are so evidently related to the existing state of affairs that they may almost be taken as affording an historical record of contemporary practice. The common-sense criticisms of a shrewd observer like Montaigne, and the dreams of an idealist such as Rabelais, have their own value; but we shall listen even more readily to the words of one who speaks out of the fulness of immediate knowledge, yet with equal power to rouse our aspiration and energy.

Before considering Mulcaster’s contributions to the theory and art of education strictly so-called, it will be well to glance at his influence in the more general aspects of learning and literature. He must be credited with an important share in the movement towards the dethronement of Latin in favour of the vernacular tongues, as the medium of communication in subjects hitherto held to belong exclusively to the domain of the learned class. The initiative in this matter goes back, of course, to the time of Dante, but even with the examples of Italy, France, and Spain to suggest the change, it was a distinct and difficult task to work it out for our own language. Mulcaster was not the first Englishman to write a book in his native tongue which everyone would have expected to be written in Latin. Sir Thomas More, in some of his historical and controversial works, Roger Ascham, and a few other writers of lesser note, had anticipated him in practice, and had been more successful in attaining a lucid and graceful style, but it may fairly be claimed that Mulcaster was the first to give a reasoned justification of the course he followed and recommended, and to further the end in view by taking definite steps to elaborate the means. Nor is it only for his service in helping to establish a canon of literary English, and show the way to others by using it himself to the best of his ability, that acknowledgment is due. It was a still more conspicuous merit to see clearly, and to enforce by these means, the truth that the increase of learning, and the methods by which it may be furthered, are subjects of interest not to any limited class alone, but to every member of the community. There may be comparatively little present value in his judgments as to the proper content of the English vocabulary, and the forms of spelling which he thought should be made authoritative, but at least it is noteworthy that, at a time when linguistic science was at a rudimentary stage, he had reached a singularly just conception of the essential nature of a language, and the conditions of its growth and decay. The interesting allegory where he traces the process by which speech came to be represented by written symbols, proves him to have grasped the idea, only in later times fully understood, that language, as a product of human activity, shares in all the features characteristic of organic development.

It is not only the more formal aspects of language, moreover, that he treats with discrimination. On the still subtler question of its relation to thought and knowledge he speaks with a discernment far beyond his time. The usurping tyranny of words over the minds of men, in place of the lawful domination of the realities they symbolised, had in the movement of the Renascence changed its form without relaxing its severity. If they were no longer so frequently used as mere counters in vain disputations, they were yet apt to be regarded with unreasoning idolatry, as the sacred embodiment of the thoughts and feelings of settled forms of civilisation in the past, exempt from any enquiry as to the conceptions they expressed. Mulcaster does not share this illusion. In his view language is primarily a means of communication, and though the acquirement of foreign tongues may be a necessity for the time, yet they “push us one degree further off from knowledge.” He may not have fully realised the degree in which language is to be reckoned with as a form of artistic expression and as an instrument of thought, though his appreciation of the possibilities of the English tongue shows that he did not forget these invaluable uses; but in any case he saw clearly, and he was one of the first to see, that the crying need of his time was to be set free from the despotism of words, which made them rather a hindrance than a help to real knowledge. “We attribute too much to tongues, in paying more heed to them than we do to matter.” The bearing of this opinion on educational theory will be considered presently, but it deserves to be noted at the outset in evidence of the advanced philosophical standpoint of a writer who belonged to the generation preceding Francis Bacon.

Mulcaster’s independence of conventional practice is further set beyond doubt by his conception of the place of authority in argument. Anticipating Locke in deprecating the constant use of great names in support of a writer’s thesis, he is of course laying down a principle now so universally accepted that it seems unnecessary to refer to it, but those who are acquainted with the Renascence writers of any country know how widely a slavish regard for the opinions of the classical authors took the place of a direct appeal to the rational judgment of the reader. It was no needless service to assign limits to this controversial habit, to discriminate between superstitious servility and justifiable deference to previous thinkers, to call for a fearless statement of the truth as it appeared to each new enquiring spirit, and claim that it should be tested wholly by its conformity to reason and nature and experience. Especially valuable for his time was his insistence on the difference of circumstance between the ancient and the modern worlds, and between the characters of the various nations. He may seem to us to carry these distinctions to an excess when in considering ideal types of human nature he takes account of the form of government under which each individual has to live, holding certain qualities appropriate to a monarchy and others to a republic, but at least he laid a useful emphasis on the relativity of progress, and on the need for harmony in the component institutions of a particular form of society.

Another proof of Mulcaster’s general enlightenment may be found in the fact that he was the first of his countrymen to affirm seriously that education was the birthright of every child born into the community. It is not intended to suggest by this that he anticipated the full assumption by the State of the duty of providing and enforcing universal education, but rather that he desired to foster a public sentiment and social conditions which would be favourable to the idea that the rudiments of learning should by one means or another be distributed throughout the whole body of the nation. Efforts in this direction had been made in other countries under the levelling influence of the reforming spirit in religion, but in England, where the change of faith had been less associated with a democratic impulse, nothing had as yet been done to popularise education in the proper sense of the term, and public opinion had still to be prepared for the movement. It is true that the sharp distinctions of rank which the sixteenth century inherited from the Middle Ages were never so absolutely marked in the sphere of learning as in other departments of life. Though the child of lowly birth could never become a gentleman, he could become a scholar. The helping hand extended by the Church to the promising boy of low degree did not, however, imply any relaxation of caste feeling so far as the general supply of educational facilities was concerned. The humble scholar was raised out of his own class, and was always regarded as an exception. Taken in the mass, the gentry and the commonalty were clearly separated, and no kind of training was thought in any way due to the latter except such as might make them directly serviceable to their betters. For the first notable attack on this fundamental article of medieval faith, apart from the indirect and interested claims of the Reformation leaders to the means of influencing the young, credit is generally given to Comenius. But it must be remembered that half a century before his time, and in a country where the régime of social status has always held a firm position, a strong protest against educational exclusiveness was raised by Richard Mulcaster, who maintained that the elements of knowledge and training should be recognised as the privilege of all, irrespective of rank or sex, and without regard to their future economic functions. “As for the education of gentlemen,” he writes, “at what age shall I suggest that they should begin to learn? Their minds are the same as those of the common people, and their bodies are often worse. The same considerations in regard to time must apply to all ranks. What should they learn? I know of nothing else, nor can I suggest anything better, than what I have already suggested for all.” And his unwillingness to recognise any kind of disability in matters of education, except what was proved by the test of experience to be natural, is further shown in his insistence that, as far as may be possible, girls should have the same advantages as boys. Though, as he says, in deference to the general feeling of his time and country he will not go so far as to propose that girls should be admitted to the grammar schools and universities, he not only wishes them to share in all the opportunities of elementary education, but he wholly approves of the ideal of higher culture for women, which was represented in the attainments of Queen Elizabeth herself.

We may now turn to matters that are less the concern of the philosophic thinker and social observer than of the expert in educational practice. Let us first examine Mulcaster’s conception of the content of a liberal education, from the two points of view, as to how far it should embrace a culture of the whole nature, and as to the proper range of distinctively mental studies. It is a matter of history that in both these respects the Renascence ideal had fallen away from the example of the Greeks. Intellectual culture had to a large extent been dissociated from physical and moral training. The life of the scholar was a thing apart from the conception of chivalry, which encouraged the physical prowess and regard to a code of honour that were developed by the military class. The formal profession of a religious end in learning took the place of a genuine cultivation of character, and while this restricted path was open to the more gifted of the poorer classes, the alternative ideal was reserved for the upper social ranks. It is true that in our own country in the Elizabethan era there was some reconciliation of these diverse aims in the persons of such men as Walter Raleigh and Philip Sidney, but the type they represented was quite exceptional, and had no apparent influence on general educational methods. There was great need for Mulcaster’s plea that in the upbringing of children we should return to the ideal expressed in Juvenal’s familiar phrase, “mens sana in corpore sano.” No stress need be laid on the particular forms of physical exercise which he recommended. His suggestions here were not original, and the present time has little to learn from the physiological conceptions of the sixteenth century. But what was really instructive in his own day, and is scarcely less so in ours, is the intimate relation he conceived to exist between the body and the mind—a relation that demanded a harmonious training of the whole nature. “The soul and the body being co-partners in good will, in sweet and sour, in mirth and mourning, and having generally a common sympathy and mutual feeling, how can they be, or rather why should they be, severed in education?... As the disposition of the soul will resemble that of the body, if the soul be influenced for good, it will affect the body also.” His use of the term soul, moreover, is significant of the conviction which underlies all his writing, that the end of all physical intellectual training is the development of the feelings that prompt to right conduct. He was not carried away by the current craze for book-learning into accepting as a legitimate end of education the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake; in his view the teacher must always have regard to the unfolding of the whole character that would bear fruit in the discharge of the duties of citizenship and other activities of a complete life. Not that he wished the school to assume any preponderating control over the child, either in the direction of opinion or in moral ascendency. He had too clear an insight into the springs of conduct to ignore the potency of the earliest influences of the home, and so far from seeking to usurp the authority of parents in determining their children’s lives, he urges the closest co-operation and good feeling among all who have the pupil’s welfare at heart. Some further insight will be gained into his comprehensive ideal of upbringing when we come to consider his appreciation of home influence more closely, but it may first be asked what his conception was of the mental cultivation that should be aimed at in a liberal curriculum. In regard to the secondary or grammar school period of education, with which he was most intimately acquainted, though he has many acute criticisms and luminous suggestions to offer, his expressed intention of supplying a systematic treatment was unfortunately left unfulfilled; and of his ideas as to university teaching we have little more than a sketch of proposed reforms. On these points something may presently be said, but we may turn first to his contributions towards the establishment of a sound elementary system, which he held to be the most important stage of all, because it was the only form of education that could be brought within the reach of every child, and was the foundation of all further progress in learning. Even this part of the task that he imposed on himself remains incomplete, but there is material enough for a judgment of his point of view. It would seem that in England, up to the Elizabethan era at least, no provision had ever been made for rudimentary instruction for any except those who were destined to proceed to the higher stages of learning, and that the elementary training given to these select few was limited to the barest preparation for the traditional study of the classics. The reading and writing of the vernacular must have been acquired up to a certain point before the Latin grammar could be attacked, but it is clear that no adequate justice was done even to these preliminary subjects, and that no attempt was made to include a deliberate training of the senses and activities of the child. Mulcaster’s proposals as to an elementary course certainly do not sound revolutionary. His subjects coincide pretty nearly with our familiar “three R’s,” and he is himself careful to show that he is merely “reviving” what is commended by the precepts of the wise men of old, and by the practice of the greatest States. But it was no small merit to be the first to perceive that such a revival was possible and desirable in his own time and country, and when his proposals are examined it will be found that in the spirit in which he conceived them they were far in advance alike of contemporary, and of much later, thought and practice. It is a well-known criticism of his contemporary, Montaigne, that teachers were apt to think too much of the matter that was to be taught, and too little of the nature of the learner. That this remark was just in relation to these times we can well believe when we consider how recently the traditional bearing of the schoolmaster has been associated rather with the harsh enforcement of uncongenial tasks under the threat of penalties than with the sympathetic encouragement of willing and interested labours. Ascham had protested against the short-sighted severity of teachers, but failed to see that its root lay in the fact that the studies presented were generally ill-adapted to the capacities and inclinations of the scholars. Mulcaster, on the other hand, recognised that the remedy must be sought in the discovery of a more reasonable method, towards which he had definite constructive proposals to offer. He may even be said to have anticipated by a couple of centuries the doctrine of Rousseau, afterwards utilised by Pestalozzi and Froebel, that the paramount aim of the teacher is not to communicate knowledge, but to stimulate and guide the natural activity of the child. It is to be noted that every one of the five subjects he proposed to teach in the elementary school is of the nature of an art, calling for independent action on the part of the learner, and giving pleasurable exercise to the senses and bodily organs as well as to the intelligence. It was more than a happy intuition that led him to give so honourable a place to drawing and music; it was a consistent application of his doctrine that the minds of young children must be fed through the channels of sense perception, and that faculty is to be developed by placing the outlets of energy in immediate contact with the powers of acquisition. Drawing was intended to give a direct and practical knowledge of space relations and of the forms of natural objects, by combining the activities of eye and hand, while at the same time it favoured the cultivation of artistic expression. Music, being based on varied arrangements of number in pitch and time, was counted on to supply the ground-work of arithmetic, while in accordance with the persuasion of the Greeks it was held to exercise a definite æsthetic and moral influence on character. That Mulcaster had not only thought out his theories on the matter, but had verified them by individual child-study, is clear from the terms of his recommendations. “We must seek for natural inclinations in the soul, which seem to crave the help of education and nurture, and by means of these may be cultivated to advantage.... The best way to secure good progress, so that the intelligence may conceive clearly, memory may hold fast, and judgment may choose and discern the best, is so to ply them all that they may proceed voluntarily and not with violence.”

The same insight into the heart of the educational process appears in his treatment of the grammar-school curriculum. When we remember the absorbing pre-occupation with classical learning that was the distinctive mark of the Renascence scholars, and the prominence given in consequence to linguistic study in education, we should not wonder if Mulcaster were found acquiescing in some degree in the narrow ideal that exalted knowledge at the expense of faculty, and laid more stress on the interpretation of words than of things. What will rather excite our surprise and admiration is the extent to which he was able to rise above the contemporary estimate of the value of Latin and Greek as instruments of culture. It is from the pen of one whose reputation in his own day was based on his mastery of ancient languages and his success as a teacher of the classics, that we have the clearest statement of the contrast between the indirect, incidental value of linguistic training, and the direct, formative influences of scientific study. “In time all learning may be brought into one tongue, and that naturally understood by all, so that schooling for tongues may prove needless, just as once they were not needed; but it can never fall out that arts and sciences in their essential nature shall be anything but most necessary for every commonwealth that is not utterly barbarous.... The sciences that we term ‘mathematical’ from their very nature always achieve something good, intelligible even to the unlearned, by number, figure, sound, or motion. In the manner of their teaching also they plant in the mind of the learners a habit of resisting the influence of bare probabilities, of refusing to believe in light conjectures, of being moved only by infallible demonstrations.”

It has been stated above that Mulcaster had reached a conception distinctly in advance of his time in regard to the true significance of words, as the signs of realities in the outer world and of the impressions these realities make upon the mind. We may here notice the influence of this conception on his treatment of linguistic study as a means of education. While fully admitting the necessity for acquiring the classical languages as long as these continued to be the only vehicles of learning, he never fails to regret the loss of time absorbed in studying them, and he anticipates with satisfaction the time when modern tongues, and especially his own, will be sufficiently developed and refined to replace Latin and Greek, believing as he does that “all that bravery may be had at home that makes us gaze so much at the fine stranger.” Not that he ever forgets that words are something more than mere symbols, that indeed they come to have a certain objective reality of their own, which must be apprehended as directly as that of any other natural phenomenon. “Do we not learn from words?” he asks. “No marvel if it is so, for a word is a metaphor, a learned translation, something carried over from its original sense to serve in some place where it is even more properly used, and where it may be most significant, if it is properly understood. Take pains to learn from it; you have there a means of gaining knowledge.” But this appreciation of the inner significance of language does not blind him to the fact, apparently unperceived by all his contemporaries, that the unfortunate need for devoting so much time and energy to linguistic study was a very serious hindrance to the natural unfolding of the mental faculties through a reasonable education. In his own words, “we were forced ... to deal with the tongues, ere we pass to the substance of learning; and this help from the tongues, though it is most necessary, as our study is now arranged, yet hinders us in time, which is a thing of great price—nay, it hinders us in knowledge, a thing of greater price. For in lingering over language, we are removed and kept back one degree further from sound knowledge, and this hindrance comes in our best learning time.” And in another passage he bewails the “loss of time over tongues, while you are pilgrims to learning,” and the “lack of sound skill, while language distracts the mind from the sense.” Where could we find a stronger indictment of the Public School tradition that banishes every form of nature study during the “best learning time,” the years when the powers of observation are in their first freshness, for the sake of a premature initiation into the subtleties of Latin Grammar?

We may pass to another important question with which Mulcaster deals in a spirit in harmony with his enlightened conception of general instruction. His assumption that the day-school is the normal arrangement, and that either an entirely private or a boarding-school education requires to be justified by special circumstances, gives him a far wider outlook and a safer standpoint than can be claimed for theorists, whose ideal, like that of Locke, regards only the upbringing of a gentleman’s son at home under a tutor, or, like that of Milton, involves the collection of large numbers in boarding establishments of a conventual nature. This is a matter that is naturally related to the extension of educational opportunities throughout all classes of the community. As long as only a select few were thought fit for learning, residence in the monastery was almost an affair of necessary convenience, but when teaching came to be more widely offered, the day-school became a recognised institution, and such other arrangements as implied greater expenditure were retained only by the rich, as instruments of social exclusiveness. It is in countries where distinctions of rank are comparatively little marked that the day-school system has flourished most, and the partiality shown in Mulcaster’s day for the services of a private tutor, and in subsequent times for the boarding-school, is certainly to be taken in great measure as an assertion of class superiority. Mulcaster was no democrat, but he saw that the rich had more to lose than to gain by arrangements that unduly restricted their experience. Moreover he clearly discerned the importance of the family as the true social unit, the nursery of the virtues that should be developed in the school, and find exercise in the public, as well as the private, conduct of life. It is not his fault that his countrymen have become bound hand and foot to a system under which the vast majority of well-to-do parents hand over their children, body and soul, from the tenderest years to the care of professional upbringers, divesting themselves with a light heart of the most precious responsibilities that nature has conferred on them. “How can education be private?” he asks, “It is an abuse of the name as well as of the thing.” But on the other hand he urges—“All the considerations which persuade people rather to have their children taught at home than along with others outside, especially with regard to their manners and behaviour, form arguments for their boarding at least at home, if the parents will take their position seriously.... They are distinct offices, to be a parent, and a teacher, and the difficulties of upbringing are too serious for all the responsibilities to be thrown into the hands of one alone.”

On the question of the position and standing of the teacher Mulcaster’s contentions were scarcely more timely and just for his own generation than they are for the present time. Though certain ranks of the teaching profession have never been without social consideration, it remains true that teachers as a whole were long regarded as an inferior order of the clergy, who did not reach the goal of their ambition until they had succeeded in leaving their first calling, to take the more tranquil and dignified position of a cure of souls. As he puts it—“The school being used but for a shift, from which they will afterwards pass to some other profession, though it may send out competent men to other careers, remains itself far too bare of talent, considering the importance of the work.” It was only natural that the profession should suffer from this want of independence, in the general esteem, and therefore in its substantial rewards, but the claim which our author puts forward for greater public consideration, is obviously based, not on any petty resentment on behalf of himself or his fellows, but on broad general grounds of social advantage. He had a high sense of the importance of the teacher’s task for the national welfare, and he was anxious on all grounds that those most fitted to fulfil it with success, should in the first place be induced to enter the profession by the prospect of adequate recognition, and in the second place have sufficient opportunity of training to enable them to do justice to it. “I consider that in our universities there should be a special college for the training of teachers, inasmuch as they are the instruments to make or mar the growing generation of the country ... and because the material of their studies is comparable to that of the greatest profession, in respect of language, judgment, skill in teaching, variety in learning, wherein the forming of the mind and exercising of the body require the most careful consideration, to say nothing of the dignity of character which should be expected from them.” Mulcaster, it will here be seen, has good grounds to offer for magnifying his office, and striving to win a place of honour for it in the social economy. Subsequent experience has tended to suggest that his effort to gain greater consideration for his profession was more utopian than could perhaps have appeared to his contemporaries. There are certain general reasons why in a country like ours the teaching profession cannot be expected to reach the solidarity that belongs, for example, to the profession of medicine or of law. The wide economic differences in our civilisation inevitably perpetuate distinctions of rank, which are nowhere more clearly shown than in the choice of schools. It is natural and right that parents should be no less concerned about the companionship they provide for their children than about the quality of the teaching, and since a free and compulsory education has brought into the national schools not only the poorest but the lowest class, those who can afford it must be excused, and even commended, if they take advantage of other opportunities, where some principle of selection is applied. And as there are different classes of children, representing on the whole different kinds of home-upbringing, so there will be different ranks of teachers, varying widely in their status and emoluments. The question of numbers will always among day-schools give the town teacher an advantage over his country brother; the question of fees, in so far as these are not counter-balanced by endowments or State support, will draw the most highly-qualified teachers to the schools that serve the rich; and the secondary teacher will, on the whole, rank above the elementary teacher, partly because greater attainments are required from him, and partly because the higher teaching, requiring a prolonged school course, is demanded chiefly by the well-to-do classes. That this economic differentiation would become so marked could scarcely have been foreseen three centuries ago, and even though it already existed, Mulcaster was doing good service in protesting against its extremer forms. His claim that the elementary teacher is the most important of all, that he should have the smallest classes to deal with, and that he should be the most highly paid, must of course be taken as a counsel of perfection, but if there is no present prospect of its being fully admitted in practice, there is certainly a growing acceptance of the principle underlying it, that the most critical period of education is in the early years, when the first impressions are being received, and that no influence deserves to be so well considered as that which is to call forth an individual response from the awakening intelligence.

Difficult as the attainment of Mulcaster’s ideal of the position of teachers may have been, he was undoubtedly on the right path to seek it, when he advocated that their training should be entrusted to the universities. The demand for adequate preparation is the only reasonable means of securing at once a fitting status, and a reward sufficient to attract the best talent, and the recognition of the work of education as deserving to rank with the other learned professions for which a special academic training is required, is the natural expression of a healthy public sentiment on the matter. The higher the requirements are pitched, the safer will be the guarantee that aspirants will be drawn to the work by a genuine belief in it as their true vocation, for the sake of which it is worth while to make some sacrifice. The atmosphere of a university, moreover, offers the fullest opportunity to the teacher of acquiring the breadth of general culture, and the savoir vivre, in which he is so apt to be deficient.

Mulcaster’s proposals for university reform in general will be found in several important respects to have anticipated the course of subsequent legislation. He wished the State to have a free hand in controlling the uses of private endowments according to the special needs of each generation, as long as the confidence of the original founders was not betrayed, and he was not slow to point out directions where he considered that changes were urgently needed. We know that in his time the condition of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge was far from satisfactory, partly because definite abuses had crept in, and partly because their constitution naturally offered a passive resistance to regulative organisation. Mulcaster’s suggestions all tend to greater concentration of aim and facility of classification. He may have carried his desire for uniformity too far when he advocated the specialisation of every college to a particular study, and even to a particular stage in that study. So far as residence is concerned there is surely no need to forgo the benefits of a varied social intercourse among students of different standing and pursuits, but it cannot be doubted that every effort should be made to counteract the loss this may entail by providing full opportunities throughout the whole university for the emulation of those who are in the same academic position. In Elizabethan days there was not the same freedom of interchange in lectures among the various colleges that now obtains, and Mulcaster was doing good service in deprecating the isolation and dispersion of interest that interfered with progress. We must also commend the discernment he showed in presenting the claims of a definite and comprehensive curriculum in general learning to the attention of those who wished to engage in professional studies, as well as his zeal for the more careful selection of candidates for scholarships, fellowships, and degrees. Nor is it to be forgotten that he was probably the first to suggest the appointment of “readers” in the universities,—an arrangement that was not adopted till almost our own time.

The significance of Mulcaster’s theories may best be appreciated by comparing them with those of the great educational reformer who came next in order of time. The services rendered to the world by Comenius are too well accredited, and too widely acknowledged, to suffer any serious loss of prestige by such a comparison. It has been already urged that true originality in social affairs means an enlightened judgment as to what is possible and desirable for one’s own time and country, and the reform of education had to be worked out and proclaimed for continental Europe on independent lines. It is not likely that Mulcaster’s writings had any direct influence on Comenius, though they could hardly fail to make some contribution to the general stock of ideas that is successively inherited by each generation, and spreads almost imperceptibly over an ever widening area. Even apart from any claim to priority in doctrine, the forcible personality of the Moravian writer, expressing itself in a singularly exhaustive treatment of educational problems and their practical application, will always assure to him an unquestioned authority, while his assertion of the weighty principle that words and things must be taught together, spoken and written signs being constantly associated with the objects, qualities, or actions they represent, is in itself enough to secure him a lasting reputation. But from the national point of view, which in tracing such historical successions it is not unreasonable to assume, we may justly note that there are a considerable number of educational doctrines, now generally accepted among us in theory if not in practice, the earliest formulation of which, though generally ascribed to Comenius, is really to be found in the writings of Richard Mulcaster. More than this, it may be maintained that on several important points a more penetrating insight was shown by our own countryman, in spite of his disadvantage in time. In regard both to the end and the scope of education, for example, a more humanistic conception seems to have been held by Mulcaster. Unlike Comenius, who lays chief stress on the preparation for eternity, he sets forth as the main purpose of youthful training the more proximate aims of self-realisation and useful service to one’s fellowmen. “The end of education and training is to help nature to her perfection in the complete development of all the various powers ... whereby each shall be best able to perform all those functions in life which his position shall require, whether public or private, in the interest of his country in which he was born, and to which he owes his whole service.” And while both writers insist that the rudiments of learning should be taught to children of every social class and of both sexes, the Englishman alone expresses sympathy with the ideal of a higher education for girls where circumstances permit. It would seem also that Mulcaster took the more reasonable view of the relation of a teacher to his class, for his claim that the elementary master should have the smallest number to deal with, at least shows a fuller sense of the importance of individual treatment than is conveyed in the later writer’s dictum that it does not matter how large a class is if the teacher has monitors to help him.

Among the doctrines of Comenius to which his expositors have attached special importance may be numbered the following: that the earliest teaching should be given in the vernacular; that the first subjects taught should be such as give scope to the child’s activity; that knowledge should be communicated through the senses and put to immediate use; that examples should be taught before rules; that the arts should be taught practically; that in language-study grammar should accompany reading and speaking; that learning should be spontaneous and pleasant without undue pressure; that children should not be beaten for failure in study, but only for moral offences; and that education should follow in general the guidance of nature. These principles now rank among the commonplaces of educational method, and in so far as their acceptance has been furthered by the persuasive advocacy of Comenius the gratitude of the world is due to him; but why should Englishmen forget that they had all been proclaimed with unmistakable clearness in this country half a century earlier? Readers of the foregoing pages must be already convinced that the doctrines in question form an essential part of Mulcaster’s theory of education; but it may be worth while to recall in a connected form a few of the more striking passages in which they are expressed. On the use of the vernacular in the early years: “As for the question whether English or Latin should be first learned, hitherto there may seem to have been some reasonable doubt, although the nature of the two tongues ought to decide the matter clearly enough, ... but now ... we can follow the direction of reason and nature in learning to read first that which we speak first, to take most care over that which we use most, and in beginning our studies where we have the best chance of good progress, owing to our natural familiarity with our ordinary language, as spoken by those around us in the affairs of everyday life.” No particular quotation is needed to illustrate Mulcaster’s dependence for his elementary training on studies that called forth individual effort from the child, for the course he planned includes no other kind of occupation, but the following sentences may stand for a proof that he recognised the natural channels through which knowledge is acquired and utilised in the guidance of action: “Nature has ... given us for self-preservation the power of perceiving all sensible things by means of feeling, hearing, seeing, smelling, and tasting. These qualities of the outward world, being apprehended by the understanding and examined by the judgment, are handed over to the memory, and afterwards prove our chief—nay, our only—means of obtaining further knowledge.... To serve the end both of sense-perception and of motion, nature has planted in the body a brain, the prince of all our organs, which by spreading its channels through every part of our frame, produces all the effects through which sense passes into motion.” On the point of subordinating rules to the imitation of examples, and learning the arts by practically engaging in them, Mulcaster writes: “Children know not what they do, much less why they do it, till reason grow into some ripeness in them, and therefore in their training they profit more by practice than by knowing why, till they feel the use of reason, which teaches them to consider causes.... When the end of any art is wholly in doing, the initiation should be short, so as not to hinder that end by keeping the learners too long musing upon rules.... We must keep carefully that rule of Aristotle which teaches that the best way to learn anything well which has to be done after it is learned, is always to be a-doing while we are a-learning.” To the question of the best method in linguistic study, Mulcaster was ready to apply this principle of learning directly through practice, and his sense of the proper place of grammatical knowledge is shown in the following passage: “Grammar in itself is but the bare rule, and a very naked thing.... In grammar, which is the introduction to speech, there should be no such length as is customary, because its end is to write and to speak, and in doing this as much as possible we learn our grammar best, when it is applied to matter and not clogged with rules. As for understanding writers, that comes with years and ripeness of intelligence, not by means of the rules of grammar.” It has already been seen that Mulcaster shared fully in the humaner views upon the treatment of children that were beginning to assert themselves in his day; but it is interesting to notice that he based his conviction not only on the general claims of sympathy, but also on grounds of purely educational expediency. “These three things—perception, memory, and judgment—ye will find peering out of the little young souls. Now these natural capacities being once discovered must as they arise be followed with diligence, increased by good method and encouraged by sympathy, till they come to their fruition. The best way to secure good progress, so that the intelligence may conceive clearly, memory may hold fast, and judgment may choose and discern the best, is so to ply them that all may proceed voluntarily, and not with violence, so that the will may be ready to do well and loth to do ill, and all fear of correction may be entirely absent. Surely to beat for not learning a child that is willing enough to learn, but whose intelligence is defective, is worse than madness.... Beating must only be for ill-behaviour, not for failure in learning.” Finally we must admit that the principle urged by Comenius, and afterwards pushed to an extreme by Rousseau and Froebel, of following the guidance of nature in planning the procedure of instruction was explicitly stated by Mulcaster. “The third proof of a good elementary course was that it should follow nature in the multitude of its gifts, and that it should proceed in teaching as she does in developing. For as she is unfriendly wherever she is forced, so she is the best guide that anyone can have, wherever she shows herself favourable.”

It not infrequently happens that the doctrines of a notable reformer, while they are full of light and leading for his contemporaries, have no more than a historical interest for succeeding generations. The rapidity of their absorption in the general current of established theory must be largely determined by the strength of the influence with which they were first asserted, so that in one aspect it may be said that the more potent the impress of the original mind, the sooner will its individual effects become imperceptible. But it would be as rash to make this rule the measure of an estimate of relative greatness, without taking account of other contributing conditions, as it would be unreasonable to be misled into the opposite error of undervaluing proposals which had only a temporary fitness and are of no present significance. In truth it is a good deal a matter of accident whether the words of wisdom which fall from men of genius and insight bear fruit early or late, and while distance in time offers a vantage-ground for the just assignment of the tributes of admiration and gratitude, the question of immediate applicability must not bulk too largely among the elements on which our judgment of a reputation is based. As has been already suggested, Mulcaster lost his opportunity of speedy acceptance for his ideals through his inability to commend them with persuasive eloquence, though such an impediment to appreciation is happily not irremovable. The more searching investigation of our time into the history of educational thought might or might not have discovered a high present value in the aspirations to which he gave somewhat inadequate expression, without his title to fame being materially affected. But it will undoubtedly give to his writings a great additional interest if it should appear that they set forth lessons which the three intervening centuries have failed to learn, and which are still clamouring for acceptance in our own day.

It would not be difficult to show that many of the reforms which he urged and anticipated, while they have been formally admitted as necessary or expedient, have as yet made little way in leavening the whole mass of educational practice. There is good reason to maintain, for example, that the impartial diffusion of the opportunities of learning throughout all classes of the community, which was a fundamental part of Mulcaster’s gospel, has been much less completely realised among us than is generally supposed. We are apt to rest satisfied with the idea of universal education without over-careful a scrutiny into the nature of what is offered in its name. In so far as elementary instruction was concerned Mulcaster drew no distinction between rich and poor, between those of gentle and of lowly birth; all were to have the same treatment, irrespective of the uses to which their knowledge might afterwards be turned. Our State system of education may profess to carry out this aim, but the justice of the claim must be denied so long as the nature and quality of what is forcibly imposed upon the mass of the people is seriously at fault. Our system of public elementary education in this country, however efficiently it may be organised, fails entirely to provide a sound general training owing to its adoption of a curriculum that is unduly utilitarian in aim. It is undeniable that this is largely due to an implicit caste feeling which prescribes that the education of the masses shall fit them directly for the performance of certain industrial tasks in a state of economic subjection. The well-to-do citizen wishes his own child, even from the first, to be taught differently from the child of poorer parents, whose schooling he helps to pay for and has some share in regulating. The course of study he chooses may be no better,—in some respects it is undoubtedly worse; but at least it is different, and conforms to the conventional standard of a liberal training for life as a whole. The codes drawn up for our national system are not framed for any such purpose. Partly from ingrained class prejudice, partly to get tangible results to show for the public money expended, and partly from a benevolent but short-sighted regard for supposed utilities, we have overburdened the curriculum with the more mechanical parts of learning. We put too much of the drudgery into the years when we can make sure of the children, so that a minimum of interest is taken in the work for its own sake, with the result that when the compulsory term is reached, the great majority of them use their liberty to throw aside their books for ever. While this reproach remains just, can we say that the ideal of a true universal elementary education has yet been reached?

It is perhaps idle to expect any equalisation of opportunities by postponing every kind of specialism to a period beyond the elementary stage, until there is a more general agreement as to what constitutes a liberal education. If we apply the touchstone of Mulcaster’s conception, how much of the traditional lumber which is now obstructing our progress would have to be cleared away! We are the bond-slaves of two tyrants—the spirit of an outworn classicism and the spirit of a utilitarianism falsely so-called. Under the domination of the former we distort the curriculum of our higher-class schools, preparatory as well as secondary, by projecting into the elementary period and practically imposing on every scholar linguistic studies that should form a specialism only for a very few during the later years of school life. Misguided by the latter we debase our public primary education by filling up the time with subjects of mere information that neither arouse the interests of the learner nor afford a genuine mental discipline. It would indeed astound the Elizabethan schoolmaster who tolerated pre-occupation with the learned tongues only until his native English should reach a high enough point of cultivation to become a worthy receptacle of learning, and who lamented the temporary need for a medium which kept the student “one degree further off from knowledge” to find that after more than 300 years the shackles had not yet been cast aside. Nor would he be less dismayed to discover that the sole alternative offered to those who were excluded from what professed to be a liberal culture, consisted only to a very small extent of that direct knowledge of the facts and laws of Nature which he conceived to be the proper food during “our best learning time,” but mainly of the dry bones of second-hand experience. Mulcaster’s ideal will not be attained until we have devised a course of study up to the age of at least 14 or 15 years, which shall form a preparation for life that is applicable to all pupils alike—to boys and girls, to rich and poor, to those who can pursue their systematic education further, and to those who must discontinue it then to enter into the world of affairs.

Enough perhaps has been already said, though it would be an easy task to continue the catalogue of reforms suggested by Mulcaster, which have been approved by the consensus of judgment among thinkers on education, but have not yet been fully carried out in this country. When we remember the over-pressure and cramming that have resulted from the abuse of examinations in the treatment of learning as a marketable commodity subject to the severest struggles of competition; or the widespread neglect of the arts and sciences as instruments of general training; or the unholy separation of parents and children during the most critical years of mutual influence, through the acceptance of the boarding-school system as a normal institution; or the anomalous position of teachers, left as they are without recognition as members of an acknowledged profession, and having to depend for their training on the voluntary provision made by religious sects,—when we reflect that on these and on many kindred matters of high urgency the wisest guidance was offered to us more than three centuries ago, we shall have little hesitation in admitting the claim of Richard Mulcaster to be considered the Father of English Pedagogy.

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