his　school。
  This　good　lady；　whose　name　by　the　way　was　Bromfield；　had　a　fine　high
  temper　of　her　own；　or　thought　it　politic　to　affect　one。　　One　night
  when　the　boys　were　particularly　noisy　she　burst　like　a　hurricane
  into　the　hall；　collared　a　youngster；　and　told　him　he　was　〃the　ramp…
  ingest…scampingest…rackety…tackety…tow…row…roaringest　boy　in　the
  whole　school。〃　　Would　Mrs。　Newton　have　been　able　to　set　the　aunt　and
  the　dog　before　us　so　vividly　if　she　had　been　more　highly　educated？
  Would　Mrs。　Bromfield　have　been　able　to　forge　and　hurl　her
  thunderbolt　of　a　word　if　she　had　been　taught　how　to　do　so；　or　indeed
  been　at　much　pains　to　create　it　at　all？　　It　came。　　It　was　her　＇Greek
  text＇。　　She　did　not　probably　know　that　she　had　done　what　the
  greatest　scholar　would　have　had　to　rack　his　brains　over　for　many　an
  hour　before　he　could　even　approach。　　Tradition　says　that　having
  brought　down　her　boy　she　looked　round　the　hall　in　triumph；　and　then
  after　a　moment's　lull　said；　〃Young　gentlemen；　prayers　are　excused；〃
  and　left　them。
  I　have　sometimes　thought　that；　after　all；　the　main　use　of　a
  classical　education　consists　in　the　check　it　gives　to　originality；
  and　the　way　in　which　it　prevents　an　inconvenient　number　of　people
  from　using　their　own　eyes。　　That　we　will　not　be　at　the　trouble　of
  looking　at　things　for　ourselves　if　we　can　get　any　one　to　tell　us
  what　we　ought　to　see　goes　without　saying；　and　it　is　the　business　of
  schools　and　universities　to　assist　us　in　this　respect。　　The　theory
  of　evolution　teaches　that　any　power　not　worked　at　pretty　high
  pressure　will　deteriorate：　　originality　and　freedom　from　affectation
  are　all　very　well　in　their　way；　but　we　can　easily　have　too　much　of
  them；　and　it　is　better　that　none　should　be　either　original　or　free
  from　cant　but　those　who　insist　on　being　so；　no　matter　what
  hindrances　obstruct；　nor　what　incentives　are　offered　them　to　see
  things　through　the　regulation　medium。
  To　insist　on　seeing　things　for　oneself　is　to　be　in　＇Greek　text＇；　or
  in　plain　English；　an　idiot；　nor　do　I　see　any　safer　check　against
  general　vigour　and　clearness　of　thought；　with　consequent　terseness
  of　expression；　than　that　provided　by　the　curricula　of　our
  universities　and　schools　of　public　instruction。　　If　a　young　man；　in
  spite　of　every　effort　to　fit　him　with　blinkers；　will　insist　on
  getting　rid　of　them；　he　must　do　so　at　his　own　risk。　　He　will　not　be
  long　in　finding　out　his　mistake。　　Our　public　schools　and
  universities　play　the　beneficent　part　in　our　social　scheme　that
  cattle　do　in　forests：　　they　browse　the　seedlings　down　and　prevent
  the　growth　of　all　but　the　luckiest　and　sturdiest。　　Of　course；　if
  there　are　too　many　either　cattle　or　schools；　they　browse　so
  effectually　that　they　find　no　more　food；　and　starve　till　equilibrium
  is　restored；　but　it　seems　to　be　a　provision　of　nature　that　there
  should　always　be　these　alternate　periods；　during　which　either　the
  cattle　or　the　trees　are　getting　the　best　of　it；　and；　indeed；　without
  such　provision　we　should　have　neither　the　one　nor　the　other。　　At
  this　moment　the　cattle；　doubtless；　are　in　the　ascendant；　and　if
  university　extension　proceeds　much　farther；　we　shall　assuredly　have
  no　more　Mrs。　Newtons　and　Mrs。　Bromfields；　but　whatever　is　is　best；
  and；　on　the　whole；　I　should　propose　to　let　things　find　pretty　much
  their　own　level。
  However　this　may　be；　who　can　question　that　the　treasures　hidden　in
  many　a　country　house　contain　sleeping　beauties　even　fairer　than
  those　that　I　have　endeavoured　to　waken　from　long　sleep　in　the
  foregoing　article？　　How　many　Mrs。　Quicklys　are　there　not　living　in
  London　at　this　present　moment？　　For　that　Mrs。　Quickly　was　an
  invention　of　Shakespeare's　I　will　not　believe。　　The　old　woman　from
  whom　he　drew　said　every　word　that　he　put　into　Mrs。　Quickly's　mouth；
  and　a　great　deal　more　which　he　did　not　and　perhaps　could　not　make
  use　of。　　This　question；　however；　would　again　lead　me　far　from　my
  subject；　which　I　should　mar　were　I　to　dwell　upon　it　longer；　and
  therefore　leave　with　the　hope　that　it　may　give　my　readers　absolutely
  no　food　whatever　for　reflection。
  HOW　TO　MAKE　THE　BEST　OF　LIFE　｛4｝
  I　have　been　asked　to　speak　on　the　question　how　to　make　the　best　of
  life；　but　may　as　well　confess　at　once　that　I　know　nothing　about　it。
  I　cannot　think　that　I　have　made　the　best　of　my　own　life；　nor　is　it
  likely　that　I　shall　make　much　better　of　what　may　or　may　not　remain
  to　me。　　I　do　not　even　know　how　to　make　the　best　of　the　twenty
  minutes　that　your　committee　has　placed　at　my　disposal；　and　as　for
  life　as　a　whole；　who　ever　yet　made　the　best　of　such　a　colossal
  opportunity　by　conscious　effort　and　deliberation？　　In　little　things
  no　doubt　deliberate　and　conscious　effort　will　help　us；　but　we　are
  speaking　of　large　issues；　and　such　kingdoms　of　heaven　as　the　making
  the　best　of　these　come　not　by　observation。
  The　question；　therefore；　on　which　I　have　undertaken　to　address　you
  is；　as　you　must　all　know；　fatuous；　if　it　be　faced　seriously。　　Life
  is　like　playing　a　violin　solo　in　public　and　learning　the　instrument
  as　one　goes　on。　　One　cannot　make　the　best　of　such　impossibilities；
  and　the　question　is　doubly　fatuous　until　we　are　told　which　of　our
  two　livesthe　conscious　or　the　unconsciousis　held　by　the　asker　to
  be　the　truer　life。　　Which　does　the　question　contemplatethe　life　we
  know；　or　the　life　which　others　may　know；　but　which　we　know　not？
  Death　gives　a　life　to　some　men　and　women　compared　with　which　their
  so…called　existence　here　is　as　nothing。　　Which　is　the　truer　life　of
  Shakespeare；　Handel；　that　divine　woman　who　wrote　the　〃Odyssey；〃　and
  of　Jane　Austenthe　life　which　palpitated　with　sensible　warm　motion
  within　their　own　bodies；　or　that　in　virtue　of　which　they　are　still
  palpitating　in　ours？　　In　whose　consciousness　does　their　truest　life
  consisttheir　own；　or　ours？　　Can　Shakespeare　be　said　to　have　begun
  his　true　life　till　a　hundred　years　or　so　after　he　was　dead　and
  buried？　　His　physical　life　was　but　as　an　embryonic　stage；　a　coming
  up　out　of　darkness；　a　twilight　and　dawn　before　the　sunrise　of　that
  life　of　the　world　to　come　which　he　was　to　enjoy　hereafter。　　We　all
  live　for　a　while　after　we　are　gone　hence；　but　we　are　for　the　most
  part　stillborn；　or　at　any　rate　die　in　infancy；　as　regards　that　life
  which　every　age　and　country　has　recognised　as　higher　and　truer　than
  the　one　of　which　we　are　now　sentient。　　As　the　life　of　the　race　is
  larger；　longer；　and　in　all　respects　more　to　be　considered　than　that
  of　the　individual；　so　is　the　life　we　live　in　others　larger　and　more
  important　than　the　one　we　live　in　ourselves。　　This　appears　nowhere
  perhaps　more　plainly　than　in　the　case　of　great　teachers；　who　often
  in　the　lives　of　their　pupils　produce　an　effect　that　reaches　far
  beyond　anything　produced　while　their　single　lives　were　yet
  unsupplemented　by　those　other　lives　into　which　they　infused　their
  own。
  Death　to　such　people　is　the　ending　of　a　short　life；　but　it　does　not
  touch　the　life　they　are　already　living　in　those　whom　they　have
  taught；　and　happily；　as　none　can　know　when　he　shall　die；　so　none　can
  make　sure　that　he　too　shall　not　live　long　beyond　the　grave；　for　the
  life　after　death　is　like　money　before　itno　one　can　be　sure　that　it
  may　not　fall　to　him　or　her　even　at　the　eleventh　hour。　　Money　and
  immortality　come　in　such　odd　unaccountable　ways　that　no　one　is　cut
  off　from　hope。　　We　may　not　have　made　either　of　them　for　ourselves；
  but　yet　another　may　give　them　to　us　in　virtue　of　his　or　her　love；
  which　shall　illumine　us　for　ever；　and　establish　us　in　some　heavenly
  mansion　whereof　we　neither　dreamed　nor　shall　ever　dream。　　Look　at
  the　Doge　Loredano　Loredani；　the　old　man's　smile　upon　whose　face　has
  been　reproduced　so　faithfully　in　so　many　lands　that　it　can　never
  henceforth　be　forgottenwould　he　have　had　one　hundredth　part　of　the
  life　he　now　lives　had　he　not　been　linked　awhile　with　one　of　those
  heaven…sent　men　who　know　che　cosa　e　amor？　　Look　at　Rembrandt's　old
  woman　in　our　National　Gallery；　had　she　died　before　she　was　eighty…
  three　years　old　she　would　not　have　been　living　now。　　Then；　when　she
  was　eighty…three；　immortality　perched　upon　her　as　a　bird　on　a
  withered　bough。
  I　seem　to　hear　some　one　say　that　this　is　a　mockery；　a　piece　of
  special　pleading；　a　giving　of　stones　to　those　that　ask　for　bread。
  Life　is　not　life　unless　we　can　feel　it；　and　a　life　limited　to　a
  knowledge　of　such　fraction　of　our　work　as　may　happen　to　survive　us
  is　no　true　life　in　other　people；　salve　it　as　we　may；　death　is　not
  life　any　more　than　black　is　white。
  The　objection　is　not　so　true　as　it　sounds。　　I　do　not　deny　that　we
  had　rather　not　die；　nor　do　I　pretend　that　much　even　in　the　case　of
  the　most　favoured　few　can　survive　them　beyond　the　grave。　　It　is　only
  because　this　is　so　that　our　own　life　is　possible；　others　have　made
  room　for　us；　and　we　should　make　room　for　others　in　our　turn　without
  undue　repining。　　What　I　maintain　is　that　a　not　inconsiderable　number
  of　people　do　actually　attain　to　a　life　beyond　the　grave　which　we　can
  all　feel　forcibly　enough；　whether　they　can　do　so　or　notthat　this
  life　tends　with　increasing　civilisation　to　become　more　and　more
  potent；　and　that　it　is　better　worth　considering；　in　spite　of　its
  being　unfelt　by　ourselves；　than　any　which　we　have