undertakings, a complete failure. He seems indeed to have realised this soon, and to have acquired in a short time a considerable insight into the state of affairs in England. Komenský's plan of founding a "Christian Academy of Pansophy" was at best absurd, but it was doubly so at a moment when England was drifting rapidly towards civil war. Quite at first, however, Komenský appears to have believed in the feasibility of his favourite plan, and he even meditated whether "the Savoy in London, Winchester, outside of London, or Chelsea, very near the capital, would be the best site for the academy." The question naturally arises, What was the object of the academy that Komenský, Hartlib, and other enthusiasts planned? Mr. Keatinge suggests that the academy had no further purpose than "to organise a collection of laboratories for physical research." This, though undoubtedly part of the plan, was certainly not the whole plan. The academy, according to Komenský, was to be composed of the wisest men of all countries, who, among many other things, were to elaborate a universal language. They were to meet in England "because of the heroic deeds of the Englishman Drake, who by five times circumnavigating the world furnished, as it were, a prelude to the future holy unity of all nations." Komenský's plans are so obviously utopian that it is scarcely necessary to mention that they came to nothing. An universal language will never be accepted, and universal peace, or the "holy unity of all nations," as Komenský termed it—though the events of the last few months prove that that ideal still has believers—was certainly impossible in Komenský's time, and probably will continue an impossibility.
Though long convinced that his fantastic plans found
