is well-nigh dead. The great poets were born in so-called "uneducated" times. Our present system of Education is absolutely disastrous in one respect—that of its tendency to depress and cramp rather than to encourage the aspiring student. Its mechanical routine works on the line of flattening all human creatures down to one level. Originality is often "quashed." Yet in all educational schemes there should be plenty of room left for the natural ability of the student or worker to expand and declare itself in some entirely new form wherever possible.
But despite our perpetual talk of the advantages of Education, here we are to-day with plenty of schools both before and behind us, but no very great men. And looking a long way back in history we see that when there was no Compulsory Education at all, there were very great men,—men who made the glory of England. Shall we leave anything after us, to match their heritage? It is open to doubt. Much of our modern work is "scamped" and badly done. And a great deal of the mischief arises from our way of "rushing" things. We are so anxious to catch Time by the forelock that we almost tear that forelock off. But why such haste? What is our object? Well,—we want to make money before we die. We want to make it, and then spend it on ourselves, or else leave it to our children, who will no doubt get rid of it all for us with the most cheerful rapidity. Or we want to have enough to "sit down and do nothing." This is some people's idea of perfect bliss. A servant of mine once very kindly reproached me for sticking at my desk so long. "If
