To do man justice, he has not spurned the fruit for which he fell. Whether from a pure love of the truth, or for the sake of the power she gives, knowledge has in most nations and ages been courted and well throned. And yet not all knowledge, but only some branches have been honourably accepted by various races. To tell the truth and draw the bow,' was education enough for a strong, wild barbarous horde. The gentlemanly philosopher of Athens could theorize on political enigmata, but left it to the despised slave, who was but a chattel in his model republic, to teach his sons the firm, strong plinths of learning. Nay, Roman citizens could hoot even at Cicero for a scholar and a Grecian; and forsooth it seems to be the rule of all ages, that while one-half the world honours, the other should point the finger at learning. Knowledge is a valuable commodity, yet, strange anomaly, to dispose of it-though while you sell it, you keep it, and even increase it is degrading. The governess and tutor of to-day ranks just above the butler and lady's-maid, but no higher. The public schools of Rome were kept by slaves, and it is amusing to find Horace congratulating himself on his private-tutorage, and thanking his father that he had not sent him to Flavius' academy, where he would have mixed with the sturdy sons of sturdy centurions, with satchel and tablet swinging from the left arm, paying their fees once a month, a week before the Ides.

It was not so much the profession of learning, as the parting with it for money, which the ancient world looked down upon. The sneer which attached to the Sophists had been anticipated in India, where it was an irreparable disgrace to teach for remuneration, though the Brahmins, who alone gave gratuitous instruc

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tion, never declined, but rather expected, a cow, sheep, or goat, at the end of term, by way, of course, of a gift. Nor even in the middle ages was knowledge regarded as a vendible commodity. The monks professed to teach for nothing. Doctors lectured to free audiences at the Sorbonne, and liberal benefactors left rich lands in England, to support Fellows who should instruct gratuitously, and who now take large sums for their teaching. But if it be a peculiar feature of this mercantile age that knowledge is bought and sold freely and honourably, it is peculiar to Christianity to surround her with a court, with ministers and satellites, and enthrone her amid all the paraphernalia of a State Establishment. There were indeed universities at Athens, Alexandria, and elsewhere. Paid or unpaid philosophers disputed beneath groves and porticos, or lectured in spacious aulæ. In the holy cities of the Ganges wise men, associated only by caste and a common object, muttered to worshipping disciples the pedantic sophistries of Hindu science, and Brahmanic superstition. But only in China, which in all things is to Europe what the monkey is to man, do we find universities, like our own, organized, established, supported by government.

These institutions have grown up with the necessities of Christian civilisation. In all the countries of Europe they had their origin in the desire to extend theological knowledge. A few learned monks lectured to cager listeners; not seeking to breed statesmen or philosophers, nor popularity for a sect or school, but simply to teach. They had no disciples, no pupils-only an audience; and since letters and civilisation had to revive, not to originate, it was learning rather than genius for which these monastic lecturers demanded the simple diploma of popularity.

That these early gatherings should have grown in time to associations and corporations, and have received the direct patronage of their several governments, results partly from their religious character, and the strong connexion throughout Europe of Church and State, partly from that tendency to amalgamate in distinct guilds and societies, which is the peculiar characteristic of that Teutonic race, whose spirit in the middle ages pervaded the whole civilized world from London to Jerusalem.

I cannot give a better instance of the growth of universities, from little knots of students to large corporate bodies, than by tracing that of the boastful Alma Mater on the bank of the Isis.

Now it matters little here whether the Druids did or did not teach near this spot the crude mysteries under which they figured a god pervading nature, and nature revealing God. In the absence of any Druidical remains, arguments are brought to show that Oxford was and was not a likely place for the wearers of the white robe and oak-wreath to initiate their disciples at. It lies in a marshy valley, watered and continually overflowed by the principal river of the kingdom. But this proves nothing either way. I have seen menhirs and dolmens on every possible site; on river-banks and high dry land, on the sea-shore and far far inland, on low marshes and rocky heights; and if some parts of France and England are utterly devoid of these remains, while others are crowded by them, it would only appear that the arts by which these huge stones of worship were erected, were first employed at a time when the Celts had already been driven back by the advancing Teutons.

The Newdegate prizeman who dwells with rapture on the glory of his Alma Mater, may think it of no slight importance to prove that Saxon Alfred, with prophetic wisdom, chose this site for the head-school of Eng land, and there can be no doubt that whoever did select it, made an admirable choice. But we can scarcely suppose that this was designed Alfred could not have foreseen the light race-boat, the broad cricket

ground, and the six packs of hounds that meet within distance. Oxford has at all times, until the present century, been an important town independent of its university. It occupies a very central position; it was the convenient crossing place of that river, which once divided northern from southern England; and the very spot where many a venturous freshman hires a dingy for the first time, might have been that easy ford over which the graziers from the rich pastures above, drove their herds to southern markets.

But enough of this. One thing seems certain, that a school of learning was here long before William of Durham founded University College in 1249. We know, for instance, that before the commencement of the fourteenth century, there were as many as 300 halls, while, as yet, there were only three colleges. These halls were nothing more nor less than hostels, and some of them retained the unassuming name of inns even to the days of Mr Froude's hero, when Wolsey pulled down one of the last, Peckwater Inn, to make way for Christ Church, The annals of Cambridge afford similar proof of the character of these establishments, which were never anything more than private speculations, without foundations, and probably dependent for patronage on the popularity of some doctissimus, who was induced by the innkeeper to take up his residence beneath his roof. The Cambridge halls have long since lost this character, but those of Oxford are still quite distinct from the colleges. They are not societies or corporations; they can hold no property, and what they make use of, even to the spoons and forks on their dinner-tables, is held in trust for them by the vice-chancellor, masters, and scholars. They are governed by a distinct set of regulations, called the Aularian Statutes; the chancellor himself is their visitor, and appoints their principals. Indeed, a curious custom in connexion with these appointments is still kept up, to prove the subserviency of the principals of halls to the university. After the newly-appointed head has been sworn in, in the dining-hall, kneeling submissively before the vice-chancellor

who lays the book upon his head, and when the votes of all the members of the hall, have, for form's sake, been collected, the principal is led out by the vice-chancellor to the door of the residence. The latter enters alone and shuts the door, which the former, however aged and respectable a gentleman, proceeds incontinently to kick with all his force three times, as a demand for admittance, whereupon the vice-chancellor asks who is there, and what he wants, and receiving the formal answer, admits him to the house he is henceforward to inhabit. The number of these inns rapidly decreased. The fattening colleges swallowed them up one after another. Covetousness led men to seek establishments where they had a chance of a comfortable scholarship, followed by an ample fellowship, and common-room canary. When James I. founded Pembroke, the eighteenth college, the halls had dwindled down to seven. There are now but five, and these make but a sorry show. Skimmery and the Tavern have long been little more than sanctuaries to which the victim of collegiate harshness might fly for peace and comfort. At St Alban Hall there was only one undergraduate a few years ago, magnificent in his solitude, and if Magdalen Hall is as well filled as a college, it is partly because it offers scholarships, and partly because it admits married men.

The colleges have a very different origin. There seems little doubt that they were originally monastic bodies. We know this for certain in some cases. Gloucester, now Worcester College, belonged to Benedictines; St Alban Hall was kept by some nuns whose convent was at Littlemore. Trinity, was Durham College in the days of Richard II., and the bishop and priors of Durham sent hither a posse of monks with wellfilled pockets, and orders to maintain as many pupils as they could entirely free of charge. These pupils, of course, were to come from their own neighbourhood; and in this we see the true origin of the colleges. For before the foundation of University College, when the students lived each at his own cost, at his own inn, subject to few restrictions, if any, the

doctors, holding a place analogous to modern professors, may, and in all probability did, lecture and dispute free of all charge. Whether they drew incomes from the Crown, or were supported, as is more likely, by the several innkeepers or heads of halls, is of little matter. The popularity they derived in days when learning lay hid in monasteries, nay, the very influence which they obtained and wielded, in some cases, against their monkish rivals, was meed enough in those ages. But be this as it may, no doubt that during the reigns of Henry III. and the three Edwards, Oxford became vastly popular. The wealthy in each district would desire to send their sons, nephews, and cousins, to pick up crumbs of Latinate erudition, ascetic wisdom, and mystic philosophy, from the docts of whom the fame had reached them, and it would be just as salutary to their souls, and far more useful to their families and neighbours, if, instead of giving their moneys to the existing Benedictines and Austin Friars, they were to found a small society of monks for themselves, to keep house at Oxford for students, whom they would also maintain, to overlook their conduct, and to aid their studies. this disposition, there were lands and moneys left in various parts of England for the purpose of building a single quadrangle, and maintaining some eight, ten, or even twelve monks, and the same or a larger number of students, either of the kith and kin of the founders, or, these failing, of the poorer natives of their favourite places. No college had more than one quadrangle at first, and the earliest buildings, of which none now remain, were of an inferior character, being only intended to accommodate the fellows and scholars.

In

Such were indeed the primitive Colleges, little more than charity-schools for certain districts, and bearing the names either of these-as Lincoln, Exeter, and the former Durham College; or of the founders--as Balliol, Merton, and Wadham. Religious names were more modern as applied to the Colleges,--such as Jesus, Magdalen, St John's, Trinity, Corpus Christi, and even All Souls', but very anciently affixed to the Halls; and