must be taken from what he well terms | the modern mind. His judgment of char "the total resultance." acter and ability by the appearance is apt to be met by Shakespeare's There is no art to read the mind's construc He then gives examples of "the more solid and conclusive characters," which start out of children when they are themselves least aware of them. He quotes Seneca and Angelus Politianus as saying: 1. Tantum ingenii, quantum iræ. (The child will have as much wit as he has waywardness.) Wotton is disposed to think this a sometimes fallacious "signature." 2. Quintilian says: Tantum ingenii quantum memoria. This maxim has a stronger consequence of hope, not only because it is important as showing a good retention, but also, as Wotton acutely points out, it is an infallible argument of good attention! 3. Parents should mark whether their children be naturally apt to imitate. tion in the face. Admitting all these and other limitations to the acceptance of Sir Henry Wotton's pedagogy, it has to be remembered that the essential value of Sir Henry's work is not in what he observed merely, so much as in the fact that he thought children worthy of observation. To an age which has received the impress of the genius of Froebel and his missionaries, this is part of our common sense. It is in the air; moreover, it is not far above our heads. Hence, if we ever open our educational eyes at all, we see it writ large wherever we go. But to Wotton's age it was a paradox. We must never forget that learning was looked upon as the be Besides these points, Sir Henry Wotton invites the attention of those who have the care of children to the following mat-all and the end-all of education. Now ters: 1. Note the witty excuses of children. 2. The kind of jests or pleasant incidents with which he is most taken in others. 3. Note especially the child at his play, or, as Wotton calls it, his "pretty pastime." 4. Note, not only articulate speech, but also the child's smiles and frowns, especially when they lighten or cloud the whole form in a moment. 5. Note his dreams. So far of capacities. As to inclinations, Sir Henry Wotton names two as examples of what should be noted: 1. Does the child love solitude and silence? He likes him not to do so. 2. When alone, does he sit still and do nothing? If so, I like him worse. There is commonly but a little distance in time between doing of nothing and doing of ill." In all this there is a downright, thoroughgoing attempt to an empirical child psychology. We know, of course, that the merest tyro in psychology would pronounce that much of Sir Henry Wotton's psychology is poor stuff; and much of it is simply empirical observation in physiognomy. But we could with equal cogency point out that many a boy in a fifth form could now do mathematics which Sir Isaac Newton never, in his palmiest days, attempted. Yet all our boys have not yet learned how to become Sir Isaac Newtons. So with Sir Henry Wotton. His ideas of studying complexions, and thence discovering "humors," are somewhat curious to learning never could be a possession of the young child; hence, educationally speaking, the child was uninteresting. It was the Scaligers, the Casaubons, the scholars, who invited the attention and aroused the envy of the schoolmasters. The little children were not scholars; experience showed that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred they never became learned. Hence there was no satisfaction to be got out of them. I hope, however, I have made clear the fact that Sir Henry Wotton was interested in those boys who personally came under his care, and that he was profoundly convinced of the importance of a careful study of the temperaments and dispositions of children with a view to training and developing them. There is one aspect I cannot refrain from alluding to and even emphasizing. In Sir Henry's observations there are included natural capacities and inclinations, the culture and furnishing of the mind, behavior and carriage, affections, observ ing powers, and practical judgments, and the culture of religion. It is not too much to say that our boasted "liberal education" breaks down before such an analysis. Today we lay stress on intellectual acquirements, and on those almost entirely. I am not now raising the question as to our wisdom or otherwise in so doing, I only point out that Sir Henry Wotton is wider and in some respects higher in his general outlook. The width and height of his observations are at least suggestive for us even to-day. The truth is, that a man like Wotton, who knew the highways of life in so many | plaints is change of scene, you know. If directions, saw, with the clearness borne I hear of you in Africa next week, I shall understand what has happened." The speakers shook hands. He found a place in the train, and she made her way again to the pony carriage in which she had driven him to the station, his farewell words not having been perhaps exactly what they would have been if spoken in the hearing of a less limited audience. "What an idiot he is," she said to herself, and then she laughed. The epithet would not have wounded the feelings of the most sensitive of mortals had he read aright the laugh that followed it. "Poor George," was with a sigh her next comment, and a grave look clouded her bright face. George was the husband for whom her mourning had now reached the lavender and white stage. Poor George, he had never liked her cousin. But there was no harm in Dan, absolutely none. The pony took its time through the hedge-shaded lanes - hedges garlanded with wild roses and honeysuckle. in upon him from experiences accumulating on every side, that life is more than learning, and that education is in its narrow sense preparation for life, and in its broad sense it is life itself. Such a man, deeply rooted in all the activities of the time, in the court, in the country, at home and abroad; well-read as to the past, a part of the present, hopeful of the future; unfettered by tradition, and without any knowledge of rules-of-the-thumb maxims of teaching, could not but throw light on the specialistic profession which he took up. He is the type of the successful all-around man, trying his hand at the education of boys. That one of the most distinguished diplomatists in his latter days should undertake the control of a school and the study of pedagogics, is an experiment little likely in our days or in the future to be repeated. If, therefore, the attempt, from the side of the accomplished gentleman, to become a schoolmaster has become impossible from the specialization which now characterizes or is destined apparently to characterize teaching, it only remains for the schoolmasters to know their own work thoroughly, and to endeavor to approach Sir Henry Wotton by "DEAR LYDIA, Words spoken in jest, their grace of bearing, their culture, not as you and the Greeks say, come true. I only of learning, but of arts, of actions, of am engaged to Miss Winterton. Emmeconversation, and of piety. He is accu-line-for so I have a right now to call her rately described as Sir Henry Wotton, made me the happiest of men by acceptgentleman and schoolmaster. School-ing me this morning. I feel I cannot let masters have before them still the desira- a post go without telling you my news. bility of the same combination. The circumstances of the age may demand the reversal of the order. Now it is schoolmaster and gentieman. The combination is essential for high work, and no example would more pointedly illustrate this than that of Sir Henry Wotton. Three days afterwards, the post brought a letter among others that was read over more than once by the recipient. It ran after this wise: When I think of how we made a subject for ridicule and merriment of an object to me now so precious, I indeed come to the conclusion that my fate is better than I deserve. Yours always affectionately, "D. FORBES. "P.S.- Emmeline sends her best love, and counts upon your presence at the wedding." Lydia's red and white grew very vivid as she read this communication the first time. On the second perusal, white predominated; on the third, her color suddenly returned, and she laughed. "He is a silly creature," she told herself; "I will give him a good time in revenge. He deserves it. How could I be so foolish as to be taken in? Emmeline! Absurd. Poor old Emmeline, with her dust cloak and bag of keys." Lydia sat down to her writing-table, and, looking very much pleased with herself all the while, wrote as follows: "MY DEAR DAN, I do not deny that your note took me a little by surprise, but I am very, very glad [three underlines to each very]of what you tell me. Of course, our foolish little jokes meant nothing. In fact, as a blind, people often joke about those they like best. I think Emmeline is most admirably calculated to make you happy, and I send my sincerest good wishes for your future life. Always, dear Dan, with love to Emmeline, "Your affectionate cousin, "LYDIA BRACKENBURY. "P.S.- Please give the enclosed note to Mrs. Winterton. I cannot forbear writing just a line to her to say how much your engagement, of which I have heard from you, pleases me. She will be so glad about it herself, I know." Captain Forbes was at breakfast when Lydia's letter was brought to him. The Winterton family were ranged round the table, and without reading his own document he handed at once to Mrs. Winterton the note enclosed and addressed to her in his cousin's handwriting. Then he read what she had written to him, and his usually lively color turned to a positive grey. This was awful. He had given to Mrs. Winterton a letter to say how much pleased Lydia was to have heard from him of his engagement to her daughter. What a frightful predicament to be in! He looked to the head of the table where Mrs. Winterton, a most grim, stiff, and propriety-loving specimen of the British mother, sat behind the teapot. He looked across to Emmeline in her prim, unattractive, old-maidish, latter youth. How should he ever get out of this? Of course the letter was all nonsense. There hadn't been a word of truth in it. How could there have been? Really, Lydia might have known. He had certainly taken a long time to compose the effusion and to make it seem as real as possible; but to whom would it have occurred, even if she had believed such a monstrous impossibility, that she would have gone and written off on the spur of the moment to the old woman? And she didn't seem to care one straw. She believed such an outrageously impossible thing, without the least hesitation or distress! It was nothing to her; evidently nothing at all. Good heavens! what a position! what in the world was he to do? He scarcely dared look again towards Mrs. Winterton as she read the most unfortunate and ill-conceived epistle. How furious the woman would be. He would have to apologize. He would have to explain that it was only a joke. Only a joke! that was a pleasant explanation to have to make. Well, he had been in some nasty predicaments before in his life, but this outvied them all. As soon as the women had left the room, the door of which he had held open for them with the most hang-dog air that human being ever wore, Captain Forbes sought refuge in the shrubbery, and racked his brains to determine upon the best course of conduct to be pursued under the present terrific condition of affairs. He had best, he speedily concluded, go and have it out with the old woman and get it There was nothing really to be over. gained by waiting. It was, indeed, past praying for. Thereupon he retraced his steps, and met Mrs. Winterton, as luck would have it, immediately in the hall. 66 May I speak to you for a moment, Mrs. Winterton?" he asked, in the most nervous of nervous voices. Mrs. Winterton acceded to the request. She was always stiff and formal, and whether there was much stiffness and formality added to what was usual, the unhappy man was too much embarrassed to rightly determine. "I am sure I am exceedingly sorry that it should have happened," he began, as soon as he found himself in the drawingroom. "Had I had the faintest idea that my cousin would take it in that way, and that this would have occurred, I don't know what I wouldn't sooner have done than write that letter." Mrs. Winterton made no reply. Her pale, cold blue eyes were fixed upon Captain Forbes's agitated countenance. She gives no help, he thought, and certainly I don't deserve it. Ass that I was. "Delirious ass," as Macgregor would say. "You see," he went hesitating and stammering on, "my cousin, Mrs. Brackenbury, did not understand that it was a joke, or of course she wouldn't have written to you treating the matter seriously. No one can more regret than I do that I took Miss Winterton's name in such a way. You must think it quite unpardonable." "I do not quite understand you, Captain Forbes," Mrs. Winterton replied, in her rigid, frozen voice. "I do not quite understand to what you are alluding." "I am alluding to my cousin's letter to you that she enclosed in one to me. I gave it to you, not for an instant supposing that she had taken seriously what I said about my engagement to your daughter," Captain Forbes answered with the it's-no use-beating-about-the-bush feeling now | history has furnished, at least since the uppermost in his distracted mind. Mrs. Winterton regarded him with a most withering expression. "Am I to understand from you, Captain Forbes," she inquired, "that you have been amusing yourself, writing to Mrs. Brackenbury to inform her as a joke that you were about to become the husband of my daughter?" "I know it was abominable of me," Captain Forbes said. "I see perfectly that it was wholly unjustifiable, and I regret my most atrociously idiotic letter more than words can say." "Yours, certainly, seems an ill-timed pleasantry," Mrs. Winterton answered, her blue eyes colder and her icy manner icier than ever, "and I should have known nothing of the nature of your humor had you not kindly explained it to me. There was no word referring to your joke in Mrs. Brackenbury's letter." Conquest, but one instance of the decease of the heir apparent of the heir apparent to the crown. That instance was supplied by the death, July 30, 1700, of the Duke of Gloucester, the only surviving child of princess, afterwards queen, Anne. It may also be mentioned as a remarkable incident that King William the Third, who then filled the throne, was the only example of an English sovereign who would not necessarily have been succeeded by his own posterity. For by act of Parliament, Princess Anne was next in the succession and after her her children. There was every human probability that the young Duke of Gloucester, who was but eleven at the time of his death, would survive both William and Anne and rule the British Empire as King William the Fourth. But it was ordered otherwise. The life of this poor young duke was of immense political importance, for, as the "adherents of the exiled monarch at St. Germains fully believed, his life was the chief, if not the only real, obstacle that existed to prevent the restoration of the Prince of Wales. Therefore every one who hated popery and loved the Protestant religion and liberty earnestly prayed for the long life of the Duke of Gloucester. But their prayers were not answered. Poor Captain Forbes, "delirious ass twice over he told himself. If he'd held his tongue, the old woman would have known nothing. He might, he thought, have trusted Lydia not to have been deceived in the way that, during the shock of his sudden dismay, he had supposed. But it was too bad of her. In the sanctuary of his own room, he drew writing materials to him again and sent her a briefer letter this time, than the first had been. "You have got me into a horrible hole," he wrote, "and I never felt such a fool in my life. I am going back to London at once." The next morning he found a telegram waiting for him at his club. "When do you start for Africa?" "She is really a little wretch," he thought, smiling. But he could forgive anything better than that she should have received calmly, even gladly, the announcement of his engagement to well, to anybody, not only to poor Emmeline, in fact. "I start for Africa next week," he telegraphed. "Shall I come and see you first?" "If you like," the answer came. From The Argosy. DIS ALITER VISUM. How greatly changed are times! When nearly two centuries ago the young royal duke lay dying at Windsor, there were thousands of English men and English women of all ranks and degrees eagerly hoping that the next tidings would be of his decease. What a contrast to yesterday when there was probably throughout the globe not one British heart that did not throb with sympathy for the royal household at Sandringham, and rise in prayer to the Almighty that he would avert the impending blow. Another contrast that is worthy to be noted: The prince, whose loss the nation now so justly deplores, had in his short but fatal illness the best medical treatment that advanced science could give. It was far otherwise with the hapless Duke of Gloucester, who appears to have been simply sacrificed to the ignorance of his physicians. The boy's malady was scarlet fever, but he was treated first for quinsy and then for small-pox. To this treatment he succumbed in three days. His tutor, the celebrated Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, was present throughout the duke's illness, and by the May it please your Grace, This is by the Princesses orders to prevent all stories or misrepresentations. The Duke was a little ill the day after his birthday, which we imputed to the fatigue of that day. It went off, and he was pretty well, till last night that he was feaverish, his head ached, and he had a sore throat; so the Princesse sent for Dr. Hans, who fearing a Quinzy, has let him blood three hours agoe five or six ounces. Since that time his feaver is abated, no ill simptome of no sort appears, but the Doctor desires assistance, in case of accidents. Upon this Dr. Gibbons is sent for, only out of the caution that an affair of this consequence requires. This is the true state of this matter, which I am commanded to signify to your Grace that you may communicate it to any of their Excellencies. I am, &c., GI. SARUM. When Dr. Hans stuck his lancet into the poor boy, he let out his very life blood; and when presently afterwards Dr. Gibbons and his brethren made their appear ance, and applied blisters to the royal patient, his doom was assured. Bishop Burnet thus reported the result. Windsor Castle, 29 July, 1700, May it please your Grace, fortable account. I am &c., GI. SARUM. The end was now not far off, though the doctors did not think so. Nine hours after his last letter, the bishop wrote another. Windsor Castle, 29 July, 1700, near seaven at night. May it please your Grace, — The Duke's head is more consistent, his Things are no worse, but rather better. breathing freer, and he sleeps a little more. Dr. Ratcliffe begins now to give over the apprehensions he had of the small pox. The Doctors do still agree in their Prescriptions. Upon opening the blisters for which I have staied the sending this-I had begun this period thinking as was intended that the blisters were to have been opened before this time, but his Highness is in a breathing sweat and sleeps so this is delaied. It is plainly a rash and there is no ill Simptome only as the Feaver is Malignant so the Patient is weak. This is what the Phisitians say who seem to own more hopes now than they did in the morning. I am, with all Respect, My Lord, Your Grace's most humble and most obedient Servant, GI. SARUM. My Lord, Windsor Castle, 30th July, 1700, 2 in the morning. God has now thought fit to put an end to this Prince's daies, and to all our hopes from him. At nine last night the Doctors applied two new blistering plaisters; the blisters of the former were fair and full, and everything seemed very promising, but before eleven there was a terrible change. The inflammachoked him. The Doctors ordered him to be tion in his throat grew to that degree that it cupped, and some ounces of blood were taken from him, but with no success, for he panted on till one o'clock this morning, and then, just as we ended the commendatory praier, he died. I can say nothing, and indeed think nothing, after this dismall sight. God be mercifull to a sinfull nation. I need not tell your Grace how much the Prince and Princesse are sunk with this. God of His mercy support them and Preserve the King. I am, &c., GI. SARUM. It was the opinion of many that the death of the Duke of Gloucester was almost a direct providential interposition. Young as he was, he had already manfested an extraordinarily military turn of mind. His toys, his amusements, his thoughts, all took this singular bias. He formed a troop of his young friends, placed himself at their head, and was never tired of exercising his boyish manœuvres with them. This tendency in after life might possibly have plunged the country into all the evils of constant warfare. The same tendency was observable in the case of Prince Henry, the heir appar |