his affections clung to that oft-quoted Bagley Wood, and to the many familiar beauties in the neighbourhood of the University.

And when the great heresy of Newmanism arose, and spread throughout Oxford, he beheld with bitterest sorrow, and most vehement indignation, the development of principles which he held to be utterly subversive to the cause of truth, and most mischievous and fatal in their influences on the National Church of his country. Newmanism (or, as it afterwards came to be called, Puseyism and Tractarianism) would have called forth his conscientious protest, wherever it might have arisen; but that its pernicious seeds should first take root and flourish in his own beloved and honoured Oxford, added the climax to his grief, and excited his most indignant denunciations. And it was the dream of his early manhood, and the cherished hope of maturer years, that in the decline of life he might be permitted to hold office there, and, amid old scenes and old associations, plan and carry out his longpondered schemes of usefulness for his "ancient and magnificent University;" and there, in comparative retirement, alternating with his mountain home in the North, enjoy that repose which a life of arduous effort and advancing age would surely demand.

His fellow-student and beloved friend, Mr. Justice Coleridge, in his valuable contribution to Canon Stanley's "Life of Dr. Arnold," tells us that he was always ready to take part in the discussions of the common-room; that he was fond of conversation on serious matters, and vehement in argument; fearless too in advancing his opinions, which even then seem considerably to have startled his contemporaries. But," continues the same authority, "he was ingenuous and candid, and though the fearlessness with which, so young as he was, he advanced his opinions, might have seemed to betoken presumption, yet the good temper with which he bore retort or rebuke relieved him from that imputation; he was bold and warm, because, so far as his knowledge went, he saw very clearly and he was an ardent lover of truth; but I never saw in him, even then, a grain of vanity or conceit."

From the same impartial and authentic source we learn that, during his curriculum, he greatly preferred the philosophers and historians to the poets of antiquity; his passion was for Aristotle and Thucydides. For the former he seemed to entertain a personal affection; his tone was deeply tinctured with the ideas, the expressions, and the maxims of the "dear old Stagirite;" and though much inclined, when he was selecting his son's University, to choose Cambridge, he could not make up his mind to send him where he would lose Aristotle, and accordingly decided on Oxford. Almost equal in his regard was Thucydides; he used him as a constant text-book, and knew thoroughly the contents of every individual chapter: and next in order came Herodotus, whom in after years he continued to enjoy with even more than youthful relish. Indeed, he was to the last, true to his favourite authors, as he was faithful to his early friends. Aristotle and Thucydides never lost their place in his affections; but as he grew older he learned to estimate at their real value those grand productions of the ancient poets, which, at this early period, he rather unduly overlooked. In his correspondence of the year 1833, he writes thus :-" You will be amused when I tell you that I am becoming more and more a convert to the advantages of Greek and Latin verse;" -which he had once regarded as "one of the most contemptible prettinesses of the understanding." But even after he had become a convert to the utilty of verse exercises, he always felt his deficiency in their composition or correction, whilst he was remarkable for the force, vigour, and simplicity of his Latin prose.

The Greek tragedians he thought on the whole over-rated, though he constantly read portions with the keenest relish ;the second-rate Latin poets he seldom used;-Tibullus and Propertius, with a few others-never! And speaking of these, in the last year of his life, he says, "Of all useless reading, surely the reading of indifferent poets is MOST useless!"

But to return to his Oxford life. In 1812 he competed for the Latin verse prize, but without success: in common with

other under-graduates of his college, he sometimes wrote English verse; and some poems of his, written about this time, are said to be "neat and pointed in expression, and just in thought, but not remarkable for fancy or imagination." Some years afterwards he told Mr. Justice Coleridge that he continued the poetical effusions" on principle;" because he thought it a useful and humanising exercise. But though himself no poet, he was far from insensible to poetic beauty. The first edition of Wordsworth's poems were introduced in the circle to which Arnold belonged; and, though the voice of criticism was then loud against them, he and his fellowstudents were not slow to receive an abiding impression of their truth and excellence, and to become earnest disciples of the poet's school of philosophy.

Afterwards, as we shall see, Arnold and Wordsworth became intimate friends; their families were united in the closest friendship :-politics, philosophy, and literature, were discussed between them, in their almost daily walks, and their hearty enjoyment of each other's society was by no means marred, because on some points they could only agree to differ.

There is the steep shady lane, leading up to Rydal Mount, unaltered since the days when the poet and his friend walked beneath the overshadowing trees, and listened to the musical ripple of the Rotha; or to the deeper murmur of the "Forces" in Rydal Park! There are the solemn mountains, rising peak after peak into the silent sky-calm and grand and solitary!-there are the old stone walls, so beautifully mantled with the subdued tints of dark mosses, tender lichens and delicate ferns!-there is the little chapel where Arnold worshipped and sometimes preached !—all is unchanged, for change visits but seldom the lovely vale of the Rotha; all is bright and glowing in the long sweet summerday but Wordsworth lies in his grassy grave, in the quiet churchyard at Grasmere, and Arnold sleeps till the morning of the Resurrection in the chancel of his own Rugby-chapel!

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It must have been a pleasant circle, that knot of young men at Corpus, so familiar with each other, so frank, so cordial, and so unceremonious in their common and most

gonal intercourse. Poetry, history, philosophy, logic, and all The political and ecclesiastical questions of the day, were in turn mooted and debated as occasion arose. Ever and anon Game the exciting news of Wellington's victories; and then the storming of Badajoz, the daring deeds of Salamanca and Vittoria, and the fierce guerilla conflicts in the wild passes of the Pyrennees, with every detail of march, countermarch, advance and retreat, disposition of troops, and commissariat blunders, were discussed with all the vehemence of youth and patriotism, in the common-room, or in the smaller circle of a private breakfast-party, or a pedestrian expedition to Shotover or Bagley Wood.

In those days religious controversy occupied but little ground among the young Oxonians; and we are told, by one whose opinion is unquestionable, that the regular theological studies of the University were "deplorably low!" Still there were in the different colleges some earnest and serious minds, and among them Arnold,-who were diligent readers of Barrow, Hooker and Taylor.

He was naturally of an inquisitive turn of mind, anxiously and distressingly so;-one of those in whom the organ of causality is very largely developed. His conscientiousness was extreme; and in a person of weaker judgment, and of less vigorous understanding, might have resulted in mere irresolution and morbid restlessness. Previous to his ordination, he was harassed by doubts on certain points of the Articles ;-doubts that were by no means the ignoble offspring of a carping, cavilling spirit; but the almost inevitable sequence of a strong and active tendency to intellectual enquiry, in a mind, powerful indeed, but not yet matured or sobered by actual contact and conflict with the practical realities of life. He had other doubts besides, that for a time deeply overshadowed his path; but these are better considered in tracing the sources of that full and perfect faith, which gladdened his heart from manhood to the grave, and belong more especially to a forthcoming chapter.

We do not hear or read of any juvenile indiscretions in Arnold's University days; the buoyancy of his healthy frame and youthful spirit seem to have expended themselves in

wholesome physical exercise, such as walking, bathing, and the like. And his walks were not mere strolls, but what he graphically called "skirmishes across the country;"-pedestrian steeple-chases in fact,-when the road was deserted, and fences, ditches, and the common impediments of all such eccentric deviations from the beaten track, not avoided, but sought out and triumphantly surmounted.

The Attic Society, a small circle of debaters, had been formed in Oxford, and Arnold was among the earliest members; but he is spoken of as an embarrassed speaker; and perhaps, considering his early years,-eighteen or nineteen at the utmost,-it was quite as well that he should be so. tainly in this day, when excess of assurance is rather too prevalent among the members of the rising generation, we are in no wise disposed to regard with censure the overmodesty and bashfulness of their predecessors.

Cer

At Oriel he found a coterie, whose names are now high in the horizon of the ecclesiastical and literary world. Copleston, Davidson, Whateley, Keble, Hawkins and Hampden, were some of those with whom he there became acquainted. With Dr. Hawkins, and Dr. Whateley, now Archbishop of Dublin, he formed a strong and life-long friendship; and with regard to Keble, he never ceased to deplore the suspension of intercourse, which thorough difference of opinion, on points which both held to be essential, had caused between them. His feelings towards his friend were always of the most affectionate character, and he constantly hoped for the renewal of that intimacy, which disagreement on points so vital had unhappily interrupted. Had Dr. Arnold lived a few weeks longer, the two so long separated, and yet so sincerely attached, would have met in the peaceful seclusion of Arnold's Westmoreland home; but the time of meeting arrived, and one of the twain had passed into that higher region, where all the difficulties of finite nature are resolved in the clear light of the Eternal Truth; where the clouds and shadows of mortality melt away for ever in the clear, calm radiance of the City that needs no candle, nor light of the sun or of the moon;-where they know, even as they are known!

I will close this chapter with an extract from the letter