Thus there are two lines of argument which meet in the same conclusion. There is a kind of study—namely, the study of modern literatures—which is neglected at the universities, because it is not seen that there is substance enough in it to give matter for an examination. There is a kind of study—namely, modern history which it has been eagerly sought to introduce at the universities, which has an even too great abundance of matter, but which is cast out because it wants some thread of unity to run through the whole. Is it not clear that the two belong to each other?—that they ought to be studied side by side? And, indeed, this is what is actually done by the student of Latin and Greek.
In fact, what is here proposed, is an examination to run precisely parallel to the classical tripos at Cambridge, or the final classical examination at Oxford. There is no great depth in an ordinary first-class man's knowledge of Plato and Aristotle; neither would there be any great depth in the knowledge of Descartes and Machiavelli possessed by the first-class man in this proposed examination. But the knowledge attained would be miles above utter ignorance, and it would form a public opinion, which, though not deep itself, would be capable of judging of depth, and distinguishing true merit from pretentious talk. Is not this very sadly wanted at the present day? Let the reader think what is the average knowledge of modern authors, modern history, and the institutions of foreign countries, possessed by his personal friends. It is pretty safe to say that it will be found very small indeed. The German or French works, which it is politely assumed that "every one" has read, will turn out perhaps to have been read by one out of every ten well-educated men. There are many who lament their ignorance, but yet, owing to the press of work in active life, cannot remove it. Is it not a hardship that they should not have had an opportunity of removing it in the course of their education? Very few people, when they have settled into a sphere of work, are able, even when they go abroad for their holidays, to do much beyond walking and seeing celebrated sights.
No doubt, an examination in modern literatures would differ in some material respects from an examination in ancient literatures. The languages being less hard, there would be less in them of a stringent intellectual test. Yet this is a difference too often exaggerated as to its extent. The difficulties which lie at the threshold of French and German are considerably less than those which lie at the threshold of Latin and Greek. But the idiosyncrasies of authors furnish a species of difficulty independent of the structure of the language. This species is, indeed, in the case of French authors, reduced to a minimum by the admirable lucidity of their style. But in German authors difficulties of this kind are even considerably above what they are in Latin and Greek. The thoughts of Richter lie less on the surface than those of Tacitus. And, in such works as political or legal orations, no easi-
