_T._ Where is _a thing?_ _C._ It is understood.
_T._ Well, but put it in. _C._ Illud quod.
_T._ Is that right? what is the common phrase? _C. is silent._
_T._ Did you ever see “illud quod” in that position? is it the phrase? _C.
is silent._
_T._ It is commonly “id quod,” isn’t it? id quod. _C._ Oh, I recollect, id
quod.
_T._ Well, which is more common, “quod,” or “id quod,” when the sentence
is the antecedent? _C._ I think “id quod.”
_T._ At least it is far more distinct; yes, I think it is more common.
What could you put instead of it? _C._ Quod quidem.
_T._ Now, dubitanti mihi; what is “mihi” governed by? _C._ Accessit.
_T._ No; hardly. _C. is silent._
_T._ Does “accessit” govern the dative? _C._ I thought it did.
_T._ Well, it may; but would Cicero use the dative after it? what is the
more common practice with words of motion? Do you say, Venit mihi, _he
came to me_? _C._ No, Venit ad me;—I recollect.
_T._ That is right; venit ad me. Now, for instance, “incumbo:” what case
does “incumbo” govern? _C._ Incumbite remis?
_T._ Where is that? in Cicero? _C._ No, in Virgil. Cicero uses “in”; I
recollect, incumbere in opus … ad opus.
_T._ Well, then, _is_ this “mihi” governed by “accessit”? _what_ comes
after accessit? _C._ I see; it is, accessit ad tollendam dubitationem.
_T._ That is right; but then, what after all do you do with “mihi”? how is
it governed? _C. is silent._
_T._ How is “mihi” governed, if it does not come after “accessit”? _C.
pauses, then_, “Mihi” … “mihi” is often used so; and “tibi” and “sibi”: I
mean “suo sibi gladio hunc jugulo”; … “venit mihi in mentem”; that is, _it
came into my mind_; and so, “accessit mihi ad tollendam,” etc.
_T._ That is very right. _C._ I recollect somewhere in Horace, vellunt
tibi barbam.
Etc., etc.
4.
And now, my patient reader, I suspect you have had enough of me on this
subject; and the best I can expect from you is, that you will say: “His
first pages had some amusement in them, but he is dullish towards the
end.” Perhaps so; but then you must kindly bear in mind that the latter
part is about a steady careful youth, and the earlier part is not; and
that goodness, exactness, and diligence, and the correct and the
unexceptionable, though vastly more desirable than their contraries in
fact, are not near so entertaining in fiction.
§ 2.
Composition.
1.
I am able to present the reader by anticipation with the correspondence
which will pass between Mr. Brown’s father and Mr. White, the tutor, on
the subject of Mr. Brown’s examination for entrance at the University.
And, in doing so, let me state the reason why I dwell on what many will
think an extreme case, or even a caricature. I do so, because what may be
called exaggeration is often the best means of _bringing out_ certain
faults of the mind which do indeed exist commonly, if not in that degree.
If a master in carriage and deportment wishes to carry home to one of his
boys that he slouches, he will caricature the boy himself, by way of
impressing on the boy’s intellect a sort of abstract and typical
representation of the ungraceful habit which he wishes corrected. When we
once have the simple and perfect ideas of things in our minds, we refer
the particular and partial manifestations of them to these types; we
recognize what they are, good or bad, as we never did before, and we have
a guide set up within us to direct our course by. So it is with principles
of taste, good breeding, or of conventional fashion; so it is in the fine
arts, in painting, or in music. We cannot even understand the criticism
passed on these subjects until we have set up for ourselves the ideal
standard of what is admirable and what is absurd.
So is it with the cultivation and discipline of the mind, it a handsomer
place than I thought for—really a respectable town. But it is sadly behind
the world in many things. Think of its having no Social Science, not even
a National Gallery or British Museum! nor have they any high art here:
some good public buildings, but very pagan. The bay is a fine thing.
“I called with your letter on Mr. Black, who introduced me to the
professors, some of whom, judging by their skulls, are clever men.
“There is a lot here for examination, and an Exhibition is to be given to
the best. I should like to get it. Young Black,—you saw him once,—is one
of them; I knew him at school; he is a large fellow now, though younger
than I am. If he be the best of them, I shall not be much afraid.
“Well—in I went yesterday, and was examined. It was such a queer concern.
One of the junior Tutors had me up, and he must be a new hand, he was so
uneasy. He gave me the slowest examination! I don’t know to this minute
what he was at. He first said a word or two, and then was silent. He then
asked me why we came up to Dublin, and did not go down; and put some
absurd little questions about βαίνω. I was tolerably satisfied with
myself, but he gave me no opportunity to show off. He asked me literally
nothing; he did not even give me a passage to construe for a long time,
and then gave me nothing more than two or three easy sentences. And he
kept playing with his paper knife, and saying: ‘How are you now, Mr.
Brown? don’t be alarmed, Mr. Brown; take your time, Mr. Brown; you know
very well, Mr. Brown;’ so that I could hardly help laughing. I never was
less afraid in my life. It would be wonderful if such an examination
_could_ put me out of countenance.
“There’s a lot of things which I know very well, which the Examiner said
not a word about. Indeed, I think I have been getting up a great many
things for nothing;—provoking enough. I had read a good deal of Grote; but
though I told him so, he did not ask me one question in it; and there’s
Whewell, Macaulay, and Schlegel, all thrown away.
“He has not said a word yet where I am to be lodged. He looked quite
confused when I asked him. He is, I suspect, a _character_.
“Your dutiful son, etc.,
“ROBERT.”
_Mr. White to Mr. Brown, sen._
“MY DEAR SIR,
“I have to acknowledge the kind letter you sent me by your son, and I am
much pleased to find the confidence you express in us. Your son seems an
amiable young man, of studious habits, and there is every hope, when he
joins us, of his passing his academical career with respectability, and
his examination with credit. This is what I should have expected from his
telling me that he had been educated at home under your own paternal eye;
indeed, if I do not mistake, you have undertaken the interesting office of
instructor yourself.
“I hardly know what best to recommend to him at the moment: his reading
has been _desultory_; he knows _something_ about a great many things, of
which youths of his age commonly know nothing. Of course we _could_ take
him into residence now, if you urge it; but my advice is that he should
first direct his efforts to distinct preparation for our examination, and
to study its particular character. Our rule is to recommend youths to do a
_little well_, instead of throwing themselves upon a large field of study.
I conceive it to be your son’s fault of mind not to see exactly the
_point_ of things, nor to be so well _grounded_ as he might be. Young men
are indeed always wanting in _accuracy_; this kind of deficiency is not
peculiar to him, and he will doubtless soon overcome it when he sets about
it.
“On the whole, then, if you will kindly send him up six months hence he
will be more able to profit by our lectures. I will tell him what to read
in the meanwhile. Did it depend on me, I should send him for that time to
a good school or college, or I could find you a private Tutor for him.
“I am, etc.”
_Mr. Brown, sen., to Mr. White._
“SIR,
“Your letter, which I have received by this morning’s post, is gratifying
to a parent’s feelings, so far as it bears witness to the impression which
my son’s amiableness and steadiness have made on you. He is indeed a most
exemplary lad: fathers are partial, and their word about their children is
commonly not to be taken; but I flatter myself that the present case is an
exception to the rule; for, if ever there was a well-conducted youth, it
is my dear son. He is certainly very clever; and a closer student, and,
for his age, of more extensive reading and sounder judgment, does not
exist.
“With this conviction, you will excuse me if I say that there were
portions of your letter which I could not reconcile with that part of it
to which I have been alluding. You say he is ‘a young man of _studious
habits_,’ having ‘_every hope_ of passing his academical career with
respectability, and _his examination with credit_;’ you allow that ‘he
knows something about a _great many things_, of which youths of his age
commonly _know nothing_:’ no common commendation, I consider; yet, in
spite of this, you recommend, though you do not exact, as a complete
disarrangement of my plans (for I do not know how long my duties will keep
me in Ireland), a postponement of his coming into residence for six
months.
“Will you allow me to suggest an explanation of this inconsistency? It is
found in your confession that the examination is of a ‘particular
character.’ Of course it is very right in the governors of a great
Institution to be ‘particular,’ and it is not for me to argue with them.
Nevertheless, I cannot help saying, that at this day nothing is so much
wanted in education as _general_ knowledge. This alone will fit a youth
_for the world_. In a less stirring time, it may be well enough to delay
in particularities, and to trifle over minutiæ; but the world will not
stand still for us, and, unless we are up to its requisitions, we shall
find ourselves thrown out of the contest. A man must have _something in
him_ now, to make his way; and the sooner we understand this, the better.
“It mortified me, I confess, to hear from my son, that you did not try him
in a greater number of subjects, in handling which he would probably have
changed your opinion of him. He has a good memory, and a great talent for
history, ancient and modern, especially constitutional and parliamentary;
another favourite study with him is the philosophy of history. He has read
Pritchard’s Physical History, Cardinal Wiseman’s Lectures on Science,
Bacon’s Advancement of Learning, Macaulay, and Hallam: I never met with a
faster reader. I have let him attend, in England, some of the most
talented lecturers in chemistry, geology, and comparative anatomy, and he
sees the Quarterly Reviews and the best Magazines, as a matter of course.
Yet on these matters not a word of examination!
“I have forgotten to mention, he has a very pretty idea of poetical
composition: I enclose a fragment which I have found on his table, as well
as one of his prose Essays.
“Allow me, as a warm friend of your undertaking, to suggest, that the
_substance_ of knowledge is far more valuable than its _technicalities_;
and that the vigour of the youthful mind is but _wasted_ on _barren_
learning, and its ardour is _quenched_ in _dry_ disquisition.
“I have the honour to be, etc.”
On the receipt of this letter, Mr. White will find, to his
dissatisfaction, that he has not advanced one hair’s breadth in bringing
home to Mr. Brown’s father the real state of the case, and has done no
more than present himself as a mark for certain commonplaces, very true,
but very inappropriate to the matter in hand. Filled with this
disappointing thought, for a while he will not inspect the enclosures of
Mr. Brown’s letter, being his son’s attempts at composition. At length he
opens them, and reads as follows:
_Mr. Brown’s poetry_.
THE TAKING OF SEBASTOPOL.(40)
Oh, might I flee to Araby the blest,
The world forgetting, but its gifts possessed,
Where fair-eyed peace holds sway from shore to shore,
And war’s shrill clarion frights the air no more.
Heard ye the cloud-compelling blast(41) awake
The slumbers of the inhospitable lake?(42)
Saw ye the banner in its pride unfold
The blush of crimson and the blaze of gold?
Raglan and St. Arnaud, in high command,
Have steamed from old Byzantium’s hoary strand;
The famed Cyanean rocks presaged their fight,
Twin giants, with the astonished Muscovite.
So the loved maid, in Syria’s balmy noon,
Forebodes the coming of the hot simoon,
And sighs.…
And longs.…
And dimly traces.…
* * * * *
_Mr. Brown’s prose._
“FORTES FORTUNA ADJUVAT.”
“Of all the uncertain and capricious powers which rule our earthly
destiny, fortune is the chief. Who has not heard of the poor being raised
up, and the rich being laid low? Alexander the Great said he envied
Diogenes in his tub, because Diogenes could have nothing less. We need not
go far for an instance of fortune. Who was so great as Nicholas, the Czar
of all the Russias, a year ago, and now he is ‘fallen, fallen from his
high estate, without a friend to grace his obsequies.’(43) The Turks are
the finest specimen of the human race, yet they, too, have experienced the
vicissitudes of fortune. Horace says that we should wrap ourselves in our
virtue, when fortune changes. Napoleon, too, shows us how little we can
rely on fortune; but his faults, great as they were, are being redeemed by
his nephew, Louis Napoleon, who has shown himself very different from what
we expected, though he has never explained how he came to swear to the
Constitution, and then mounted the imperial throne.
“From all this it appears, that we should rely on fortune only while it
remains,—recollecting the words of the thesis, ‘Fortes fortuna adjuvat;’
and that, above all, we should ever cultivate those virtues which will
never fail us, and which are a sure basis of respectability, and will
profit us here and hereafter.”
* * * * *
On reading these compositions over, Mr. White will take to musing; then he
will reflect that he may as well spare himself the trouble of arguing with
a correspondent, whose principle and standard of judgment is so different
from his own; and so he will write a civil letter back to Mr. Brown,
enclosing the two papers.
3.
Mr. Brown, however, has not the resignation of Mr. White; and, on his
Dublin friend, Mr. Black, paying him a visit, he will open his mind to
him; and I am going to tell the reader all that will pass between the two.
Mr. Black is a man of education and of judgment. He knows the difference
between show and substance; he is penetrated with the conviction that Rome
was not built in a day, that buildings will not stand without foundations,
and that, if boys are to be taught well, they must be taught slowly, and
step by step. Moreover, he thinks in his secret heart that his own son
Harry, whose acquaintance we have already formed, is worth a dozen young
Browns. To him, then, not quite an impartial judge, Mr. Brown unbosoms his
dissatisfaction, presenting to him his son’s Theme as an _experimentum
crucis_ between him and Mr. White. Mr. Black reads it through once, and
then a second time; and then he observes—
“Well, it is only the sort of thing which any boy would write, neither
better nor worse. I speak candidly.”
On Mr. Brown expressing disappointment, inasmuch as the said Theme is
_not_ the sort of thing which any boy could write, Mr. Black continues—
“There’s not one word of it upon the thesis; but all boys write in this
way.”
Mr. Brown directs his friend’s attention to the knowledge of ancient
history which the composition displays, of Alexander and Diogenes; of the
history of Napoleon; to the evident interest which the young author takes
in contemporary history, and his prompt application of passing events to
his purpose; moreover, to the apposite quotation from Dryden, and the
reference to Horace;—all proofs of a sharp wit and a literary mind.
But Mr. Black is more relentlessly critical than the occasion needs, and
more pertinacious than any father can comfortably bear. He proceeds to
break the butterfly on the wheel in the following oration:—
“Now look here,” he says, “the subject is ‘Fortes fortuna adjuvat’; now
this is a _proposition_; it states a certain general principle, and this
is just what an ordinary boy would be sure to miss, and Robert does miss
it. He goes off at once on the word ‘fortuna.’ ‘Fortuna’ was not his
subject; the thesis was intended to _guide_ him, for his own good; he
refuses to be put into leading-strings; he breaks loose, and runs off in
his own fashion on the broad field and in wild chase of ‘fortune,’ instead
of closing with a subject, which, as being definite, would have supported
him.
“It would have been very cruel to have told a boy to write on ‘fortune’;
it would have been like asking him his opinion ‘of things in general.’
Fortune is ‘good,’ ‘bad,’ ‘capricious,’ ‘unexpected,’ ten thousand things
all at once (you see them all in the Gradus), and one of them as much as
the other. Ten thousand things may be said of it: give me _one_ of them,
and I will write upon it; I cannot write on more than one; Robert prefers
to write upon all.
“ ‘Fortune favours the bold;’ here is a very definite subject: take hold
of it, and it will steady and lead you on: you will know in what direction
to look. Not one boy in a hundred does avail himself of this assistance;
your boy is not solitary in his inaccuracy; all boys are more or less
inaccurate, _because_ they are boys; boyishness of mind means inaccuracy.
Boys cannot deliver a message, or execute an order, or relate an
occurrence, without a blunder. They do not rouse up their attention and
reflect: they do not like the trouble of it: they cannot look at anything
steadily; and, when they attempt to write, off they go in a rigmarole of
words, which does them no good, and never would, though they scribbled
themes till they wrote their fingers off.
“A really clever youth, especially as his mind opens, is impatient of this
defect of mind, even though, as being a youth, he be partially under its
influence. He shrinks from a vague subject, as spontaneously as a slovenly
mind takes to it; and he will often show at disadvantage, and seem
ignorant and stupid, from seeing more and knowing more, and having a
clearer perception of things than another has. I recollect once hearing
such a young man, in the course of an examination, asked very absurdly
what ‘his opinion’ was of Lord Chatham. Well, this was like asking him his
view of ‘things in general.’ The poor youth stuck, and looked like a fool,
though it was not _he_. The examiner, blind to his own absurdity, went on
to ask him ‘what were the characteristics of English history.’ Another
silence, and the poor fellow seemed to lookers-on to be done for, when his
only fault was that he had better sense than his interrogator.
“When I hear such questions put, I admire the tact of the worthy Milnwood
in _Old Mortality_, when in a similar predicament. Sergeant Bothwell broke
into his house and dining-room in the king’s name, and asked him what he
thought of the murder of the Archbishop of St. Andrew’s; the old man was
far too prudent to hazard any opinion of his own, even on a precept of the
Decalogue, when a trooper called for it; so he glanced his eye down the
Royal Proclamation in the Sergeant’s hand, and appropriated its sentiments
as an answer to the question before him. Thereby he was enabled to
pronounce the said assassination to be ‘savage,’ ‘treacherous,’
‘diabolical,’ and ‘contrary to the king’s peace and the security of the
subject;’ to the edification of all present, and the satisfaction of the
military inquisitor. It was in some such way my young friend got off. His
guardian angel reminded him in a whisper that Mr. Grey, his examiner, had
himself written a book on Lord Chatham and his times. This set him up at
once; he drew boldly on his knowledge of his man for the political views
advanced in it; was at no loss for definite propositions to suit his
purpose; recovered his ground, and came off triumphantly.”
Here Mr. Black stops; and Mr. Brown takes advantage of the pause to
insinuate that Mr. Black is not himself a disciple of his own philosophy,
having travelled some way from his subject;—his friend stands corrected,
and retraces his steps.
“The thesis,” he begins again, “is ‘Fortune favours the brave;’ Robert has
gone off with the nominative without waiting for verb and accusative. He
might as easily have gone off upon ‘brave,’ or upon ‘favour,’ except that
‘fortune’ comes first. He does not merely ramble from his subject, but he
starts from a false point. Nothing could go right after this beginning,
for having never gone _off_ his subject (as I did off mine), he never
could come back to it. However, at least he might have kept to some
subject or other; he might have shown some exactness or consecutiveness in
detail; but just the contrary;—observe. He begins by calling fortune ‘a
power’; let that pass. Next, it is one of the powers ‘which rule our
earthly destiny,’ that is, _fortune_ rules _destiny_. Why, where there is
fortune, there is no destiny; where there is destiny, there is no fortune.
Next, after stating generally that fortune raises or depresses, he
proceeds to exemplify: there’s Alexander, for instance, and
Diogenes,—instances, that is, of what fortune did _not_ do, for they died,
as they lived, in their respective states of life. Then comes the Emperor
Nicholas _hic et nunc_; with the Turks on the other hand, place and time
and case not stated. Then examples are dropped, and we are turned over to
poetry, and what we ought to do, according to Horace, when fortune
changes. Next, we are brought back to our examples, in order to commence a
series of rambles, beginning with Napoleon the First. _Apropos_ of
Napoleon the First comes in Napoleon the Third; this leads us to observe
that the latter has acted ‘very differently from what we expected;’ and
this again to the further remark, that no explanation has yet been given
of his getting rid of the Constitution. He then ends by boldly quoting the
thesis, in proof that we may rely on fortune, when we cannot help it; and
by giving us advice, sound, but unexpected, to cultivate virtue.”
“O! Black, it is quite ludicrous” … breaks in Mr. Brown;—this Mr. Brown
must be a very good-tempered man, or he would not bear so much:—this is my
remark, not Mr. Black’s, who will not be interrupted, but only raises his
voice: “Now, I know how this Theme was written,” he says, “first one
sentence, and then your boy sat thinking, and devouring the end of his
pen; presently down went the second, and so on. The rule is, first think,
and then write: don’t write when you have nothing to say; or, if you do,
you will make a mess of it. A thoughtful youth may deliver himself
clumsily, he may set down little; but depend upon it, his half sentences
will be worth more than the folio sheet of another boy, and an experienced
examiner will see it.
“Now, I will prophesy one thing of Robert, unless this fault is knocked
out of him,” continues merciless Mr. Black. “When he grows up, and has to
make a speech, or write a letter for the papers, he will look out for
flowers, full-blown flowers, figures, smart expressions, trite quotations,
hackneyed beginnings and endings, pompous circumlocutions, and so on: but
the meaning, the sense, the solid sense, the foundation, you may hunt the
slipper long enough before you catch it.”
“Well,” says Mr. Brown, a little chafed, “you are a great deal worse than
Mr. White; you have missed your vocation: you ought to have been a
schoolmaster.” Yet he goes home somewhat struck by what his friend has
said, and turns it in his mind for some time to come, when he gets there.
He is a sensible man at bottom, as well as good-tempered, this Mr. Brown.
§ 3.
Latin Writing.
1.
Mr. White, the Tutor, is more and more pleased with young Mr. Black; and,
when the latter asks him for some hints for writing Latin, Mr. White takes
him into his confidence and lends him a number of his own papers. Among
others he puts the following into Mr. Black’s hands.
_Mr. White’s view of Latin translation._
“There are four requisites of good Composition,—correctness of vocabulary,
or diction, syntax, idiom, and elegance. Of these, the two first need no
explanation, and are likely to be displayed by every candidate. The last
is desirable indeed, but not essential. The point which requires especial
attention is _idiomatic propriety_.