But I shall be met, of course, by the question 'How is the
reading of English made impossible at Cambridge?' and I pause
here, on the edge of my subject, to clear away that doubt.
It is no fault of the University.
The late Philip Gilbert Hamerton, whom some remember as an
etcher, wrote a book which he entitled (as I think, too
magniloquently) "The Intellectual Life." He cast it in the form
of letters--'To an Author who kept very Irregular Hours,' 'To a
Young Etonian who thought of becoming a Cotton-spinner,' 'To a
Young Gentleman who had firmly resolved never to wear anything
but a Grey Coat' (but Mr Hamerton couldn't quite have meant
that). 'To a Lady of High Culture who found it difficult to
associate with persons of her Own Sex,' 'To a Young Gentleman of
Intellectual Tastes, who, without having as yet any Particular
Lady in View, had expressed, in a General Way, his Determination
to get Married: The volume is well worth reading. In the first
letter of all, addressed 'To a Young Man of Letters who worked
Excessively,' Mr Hamerton fishes up from his memory, for
admonishment, this salutary instance:
A tradesman, whose business affords an excellent outlet for
energetic bodily activity, told me that having attempted, in
addition to his ordinary work, to acquire a foreign language
which seemed likely to be useful to him, he had been obliged to
abandon it on account of alarming cerebral symptoms. This man
has immense vigour and energy, but the digestive functions, in
this instance, are sluggish. However, when he abandoned study,
the cerebral inconveniences disappeared, and have never
returned since.