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moveable. This, with them, became a practically and determinately settled point—a point as unalterable in its nature as a decree of fabled destiny, or a law of heathenish irreversible necessity. Nor had they their established dogmas with reference only to the matter and the mode of medical instruction; they had also their established dogma with reference to the media of instruction. With them, the Sanskrit and the Arabic—languages to the acquisition of which they had devoted the prime of their strength and the flower of their days—naturally and inevitably had charms—charms of a character altogether peculiar, resistless, and all-absorbing—filling the horizon of their lingual vision, and presenting allurements not to be paralleled in the world besides. Their favourite, and to them conclusive, theory accordingly was, that the improved learning of the West could by no possibility be effectually conveyed to the scholars of the East, except through Sanskrit and Arabic media. And from the high character and reputation of their authors, these became the current, the popular, and the fashionable sentiments and dogmas of the day—wielding an ascendency over public opinion, and exerting a monopolizing despotism over the master spirits alike of the academy and the palace. Hence the supercilious and contemptuous scorn, not unrelieved by occasional grimaces of compassion, at the plans and projects of the amiable and well-meaning but withal credulous and presumptuous enthusiasts, who pleaded for innovation in the matter, manner and media of instruction; and advocated not merely the desirableness but the practicability of change. Hence, too, the voluminous papers, pamphlets, and documents—the masses of learned ethnographic lumber—the whole piles of antiquarian and philological dotages, which were thrown up as ramparts around the Governor-General to hem him in, and shut him up to a forlorn conclusion. Poor Lord William! Had he been the man of little mind—the man of pigmy conceptions and dwarfish aims—the low self-seeking popularity-hunter which his relentless detractors would have us to believe, he must have shrunk back, like a defenceless fugitive from a hundred gun battery in full fire—glad, in the hope of escape, to run the risk of a few broken bones and a somewhat damaged honour. But, happily, Lord William was a man—a real man —a sturdy giant of a man,—a man, who could think for himself, aye, and act for himself,—a man, who could break through all the meshes ingeniously set to entangle him, and over-leap all the barriers assiduously raised to shut him in. Once more was his purpose formed. Under his instructions, a set of about fifty questions was prepared and despatched to all the leading advocates of the old and new systems,