his writings, above his exertions as a citizen, his administration of Rugby school may be safely set down as the most remarkable. The school was a state on a small scale; its magistrates the masters, its citizens the three hundred pupils; each with his own tastes, his own powers, his own circumstances; not easily managed by himself, and much less easily directed in the midst of his two hundred and ninetynine associates. No state was ever better ruled on the whole; none was more carefully guarded from evil and shame; none more consistently guided to nobleness and truth.

Higher still was the position of Arnold as the chaplain of the school. When this office fell vacant, a year or two after he joined the school, he asked it from the trustees on the ground that, as headmaster, he was "the real and proper religious instructor of the boys." Pray let it be remarked before we go further, that he did not make his religious instructions depend upon his being in the chaplaincy. He had begun to preach to the boys, as well as to give a religious tone to his daily teachings, from the very first year of his mastership; and what he began, he continued. Nay more; he would not make his instructions in religious matters depend even on his being a clergyman. Had he been a layman, he would not have preached as often, but he certainly would have addressed the boys on their Christian duties from time to time; while the religious atmosphere of his own recitation-room would have been quite as constant and quite as effective. "The business of a schoolmaster," was a frequent expression with him, "no less than that of a parish minister, is the cure of souls." In this spirit, and not merely in that of a clerical functionary, he assumed the chaplain's office. How well he discharged it, not merely in the chapel, but throughout the school, may be gathered from a pupil's life-like report of his preaching and his influence.

More worthy pens than mine have described that scene. The oak pulpit standing out by its If above the school seats. The tall gallant form, the k nlng eye, the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle, of him who stood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and plead ng for his Lord, the King of righteousness and love and gory, with whose spirit he was filled, and in whose power he spoke. The long nes of young faces rising tier above tier down the whole length of the chapel, from the ttle boy's who had just 1 ft his mother to the young man's who was going out next week into the great world rejoicing in his strength. It was a great and solemn sight, and never more so than at this time of year, when the only lights in the chapel were in the pulpit and at the seats of the præpostors of the week, and the soft twilight stole over the rest of the chapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallery behind the organ.

But what was it after all which seized and held these three hundred boys, dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes on Sunday afternoons? True, there always were boys scattered up and down the school, who, in heart and head, were worthy to hear and able to carry away the deepest and wisest words then spoken. But these were a minority always,

generally a very small one, often so small a one as to be countable on the fingers of your hand. What was it that moved and held us, the rest of the three hundred reckless childish boys, who feared the doctor with all our hearts, and very little besides in heaven or earth; who thought more of our sets in the school than of the church of Christ, and put the traditions of Rugby and the public opinion of boys in our daily life above the laws of God? We couldn't enter into half that we heard; we hadn't the knowledge of our own hearts or the knowledge of one another, and little enough of the faith, hope, and love needed to that end. But we listened, as all boys in their better moods will listen, (aye, and men too for the matter of that,) to a man who we felt to be with all his heart and soul and strength striving against whatever was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little world. It was not the cold clear voice of one giving advice and warning from serene heights, to those who were struggling and sinning below, but the warm living voice of one who was fighting for us and by our sides, and calling on us to help him and ourselves and one another. And so, wearily and little by little, but surely and steadily on the whole, was brought home to the young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life; that it was no fool's or sluggard's paradise into which he had wandered by chance, but a battle-field, ordained from of old, where there are no spectators, but the youngest must take his side, and the stakes are life and death. And he who roused this consciousness in them, showed them at the same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole daily life, how that battle was to be fought; and stood there before them their fellow-soldier and the captain of their band. The true sort of captain too for a boys' army, one who had no misgivings and gave no uncertain word of command, and, let who would yield or make truce, would fight the fight out, (so every boy felt,) to the last gasp and the last drop of blood. Other sides of his character might take hold of and influence boys here and there, but it was this thoroughness and undaunted courage which more than any thing else won his way to the hearts of the great mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made them believe first in him, and then in his Master.-School Days at Rugby, pp. 154–57.

Let us listen to some of the teachings from that chapel pulpit; they will more than bear out the enthusiasm of the account just given concerning them.

And therefore he who thinks that to provide schools is to provide education, or that to provide schools where the Bible and Catechism are taught is to provide religious education, will, undoubtedly, be disappointed, when he sees the fruit of his work. Be sure that the saving men's souls is no such easy matter; our great enemy is not so easily vanquished. It is not the subscription of some pounds, or hundreds of pounds, nor the building a schoolhouse, nor the appointing a schoolmaster, nor the filling the school with all the children in the parish, which will deliver all those childrens' souls from death, and mortify in them all the lusts of their evil nature, and foster and perfect all the works of the Spirit of God. Schools can not, as a matter of certainty, do this, but let us see what they can do. They can give elementary religious instruction. As every child can be taught to read and write, so every child can be taught to say his catechism, can be taught to know the main truths of the gospel, can be taught to say hymns. There is no doubt, I suppose, that schools can certainly compass as much as this, and this is, I think, by no means to be despised. For although we know but too well that the learning this and much more than this, is very far from saving our souls certainly or generally, yet it is no less true that withont this we are much worse off, and with this much better off. It is at least giving a man a map of the road, which he is going, which will keep him in the right way if he uses it. The map will not make his limbs stronger, nor his spirits firmer; he may be tired or he may be indolent, and it is of no use to him then. But suppose a man furnished with a very perfect map of a strange country, and that on his day's journey he has wasted many hours by going off his road, or by stopping to eat and to revel, and by and by the evening is coming on, and he knows not where he is, and he would fain make up for his former carelessness, and get to his journey's end before night comes on. The map, which hitherto has been carried uselessly, becomes then his guide and his best friend. So it has been known to be often with religious instruction. Neglected, like the map, while the morning was fair, and we cared

not about our onward journey; when life has darkened, and troubles have come, and a man has indeed wanted light and comfort, then the instruction of his school has been known to flash upon his mind, and more especially what he has learnt in psalms and hyinns, which naturally cleave the easiest to the memory. When he would turn he has known where to turn. This has very often happened as the fruit of early religious instruction, when that instruction has been in no way accompanied with education. And therefore, as all our church schools can undoubtedly give to all the elements of religious instruction, as well as teach all to write and real, they deserve, I think, our most earnest support; and it is our part to help according to our best ability in providing every portion of the kingdoin, and every one of our countrymen, with the means of certainly obtaining so much of good.

I have sid that schools can certainly give religious instruction, but that it is not certain that they will give religious education. I dwell on this distinction for two several reasons: first, because it concerns us all in our own private relations, to be aware of the enormous difference between the two; secondly, because, confounding thein together, we either expect schools to educate, which very likely they will not be able to do, and then are unreasonably disappointed; or else, feeling sure that the greater good of education is not certainly to be looked for, we do not enough value the lesser good of instruction which can be given certainly, and thus do not encourage schools so much as we ought. Elementary instruction in religion as in other things, may be certainly given to all who have their common natural faculties; that is, as I said, the catechism and hymns may be made to be learnt by heart, and the great truths of Christ's Gospel may be taught so as to be known and remembered. But even instruction, when we go beyond the elements of learning, can not be given to all certainly; we can not undertake to make every boy, even if we have the whole term of his boyhood and youth given us for the experiment, either a good divine, or a good scholar, or to be a master of any other kind of knowledge. This can not be done, although, as far as instruction is concerned, schools have great means at their command, nor do other things out of school very much interfere with their efficacy. But to give a man a Christian education, is to make him love God as well as know him, to make him have faith in Christ, as well as to have been taught the facts that He died for our sins and rose again; to make him open his heart eagerly to every impulse of the Holy Spirit, as well as to have been taught the fact as it is in the Nicene Creed, that He is the Lord and giver of spiritual life. And will mere lessons do all this,-when the course of life and all examples around, both at home and at school, with a far more mighty teaching, and one to which our natural dispositions far more rea lily answer, enforce the contrary? And therefore the great work of Christian education is not the direct and certain fruit of building schools and engaging schoolmasters, but something far beyond, to be compassed only by the joint efforts of all the whole church and nation,-by the schoolmaster and the parent, by the schoolfellow at school, and by the brothers and sisters at home, by the clergyman in his calling, by the landlord in his calling, by the farmer and the tradesman, by the laborer and the professional man, and the man of independent income, whether large or small, in theirs, by the queen and her ministers, by the great council of the nation in parliament; by each and all of these laboring to remove temptations to evil, to make good easier and more honored, to confirm faith and holiness in others by the r own example; in a word, to make men love and glorify their God and Saviour when they see the blessed fruits of His kingdom even here on earth. And to bring this to ourselves more closely as private persons, let us remember that if we send our children to school, although we give up their instruction to the schoolmaster, yet we can not give up their education. Their education goes on out of school as well as in school, and very often far more vigorously. We shall see this, if we remember again that the great work of education is to make us love what is good, and therefore not only know it, but do it.

I speak of us as a society, as a school, as a Christian school, as a place, that is, to which the sons of Christian parents, and of no other, are sent to receive a Christian education. Such a society is beyond all doubt in its idea or institution a temple of God; God's blessing is upon it, Christ and Christ's Spirit dwell in the midst of it.

It is very fearful to think of the sin and the shame of letting this temple of God be

profaned, of letting it be so overrun with evil that from a house of prayer it should have become a den of thieves. But, is it not also an enkindling and encouraging thought, to dwell on the blessing of not suffering it to be so profaned; of driving out in Christ's power the evil that would most corrupt us; of being indeed a temple of God, wherein his praise should be not only spoken with our lips, but acted in our lives?

I think that this is very encouraging and enkindling to every one who wishes to serve God. But by "encouraging and enkindling," I mean of course, encouraging and enkindling to exertion. It is but folly to say, "How delightful would it be if it were so!" and not rather to say, "This is indeed so glorious and blessed a thing, that I will labor heart and soul that it shall be so."

I well know that such labor becomes us, the older part of our society, most of all, and that our sin is the heaviest of all if we neglect it. But it is no less true that you have your share in the work also, and that more depends upon you than upon us. Nor is your sin light if you neglect it; I mean that every one of you has a duty to perform toward the school, and that over and above the sin of his own particular faults, he incurs a sin, I think even greater, by encouraging faults, or discouraging good in others; and farther still, that he incurs a sin, less I grant than in the last case, but still considerable, by being altogether indifferent to the conduct of others, by doing nothing to discourage evil, nothing to encourage good. The actual evil which may exist in a school consists, I suppose, first of all in direct sensual wickedness, such as drunkenness and other things forbidden together with drunkenness in the scriptures. It would consist, secondly, in the systematic practice of falsehood,-when lies were told constantly by the great majority, and tolerated by all. Thirdly, it would consist in systematic cruelty, or if cruelty be too strong a word, in the systematic annoyance of the weak and simple, so that a boy's life would be miserable unless he learnt some portion of the coarseness and spirit of persecution which he saw in all around him. Fourthly, it would consist in a spirit of active disobedience,-when all authority was hated, and there was a general pleasure in breaking rules simply because they were rules. Fifthly, it would include a general idleness, when every one did as little as he possibly could, and the whole tone of the school went to cry down any attempt on the part of any one boy or more, to shew anything like diligence or a wish to improve himself. Sixthly, there would be a prevailing spirit of combination in evil and of companionship; by which a boy would regard himself as more bound to his companions in ties of wickedness, than to God or his neighbor in any ties of good:-so that he would labor to conceal from his parents and from all who might check it, the evil state of things around him; considering it far better that evil should exist, than that his companions doing evil should be punished. And this accomplice spirit, this brotherhood of wickedness, is just the opposite of Christian love or charity; for as St. Paul calls charity the bond of perfectness, so this clinging of the evil to one another is the bond of wickedness; it is that without which wickedness would presently fall to pieces aud perish, and which preserves it in existence and in vigor.

Let these six things exist together, and the profanation of the temple is complete-it is become a den of thieves. Then whoever passes through such a school may undoubtedly, by God's grace, be afterward a good man, but so far as his school years have any effect on his after life, he must be utterly ruined. An extraordinary strength of constitution, or rather a miracle of God's grace, may possibly have enabled him to breathe an air so pestilential with impunity; but although he may have escaped, thousands have perished, and the air in its own properties is merely deadly.

The sixth evil I left for separate consideration, because it appeared to require a fuller notice. And its very name, if we attend, will make it probable that it does So. I called it the spirit of combination and companionship, whereas the other evils of which I spoke were such things as idleness, falsehood, drunkenness, disobedience; names very different in their character from combination and companionship. They are very different in this, that when we speak of idleness or falsehood we mean things altogether evil, which are plainly and altogether to be avoided and abhorred; but when we speak of combination or companionship, we name things not in their own nature evil, things which have a good sense as well as a bad sense; things, therefore, not plainly and altogether, but only upon con

sideration and beyond a certain point to be avoided and condemned. Here, therefore, the subject must be gone into more carefully; we must not blame indiscriminately, but opening gently as it were, what lies in a tangled mass before us, we must so learn, if we can, to separate the evil from the good.

What I have called the spirit of companionship, is that feeling by which we are drawn toward our equals, while we are conscious that they and we stand in a certain relation to a common superior. I mean that the feeling of companionship, as I am now taking it, implies that, besides the persons so feeling it, and who are always more or less on an equality with each other, there exists also some superior party, and that his superiority modifies the mutual feeling of the parties on an equality. Thus the feeling of companionship amongst brothers and sisters, supposes that they have all parents also, to whom they stand in another relation, and not in that of companionship; the same feeling amongst the poor supposes that they have also something to do with the rich, the same feeling amongst subjects supposes that they have a government, and if it could exist amongst all mankind toward each other as men, then it would imply the existence of God, and that he interfered in the affairs of mankind. The first element then in this sense of companionship is sympathy, a feeling that we are alike as in many other things, so also in our relation to some other party; that our hopes and fears with respect to this party are in each of us the same. And thus far the feeling is natural and quite blameless, sympathy being a very just cause why we should be drawn together. But then this sympathy is accompanied very often with a total want of sympathy so far as regards our common superior; as we who are each other's companions have with respect to him the same hopes and fears, so we often think that he and we have not the same hopes and fears, or in other words the same interest, in any degree at all; but that his interest is one thing, and ours is the very contrary.

So that while there is a sympathy between us and our companions, there is also between us and our superior the very contrary to sympathy, we conceive ourselves placed toward him in actual opposition.

But if he too could be taken into our bond of sympathy, if we could feel that his interests and ours are also the same, no less than ours and our companions', then the feeling of companionship, if I may so speak, being extended to all our relations, would produce no harm at all, but merely good: it would then, in fact, be no other than the perfection of our nature,-perfect love.

Let companionship expand into communion. You are companions of one another, with many natural sympathies of age, of employment, of place, and of constitution of body and mind. But you are companions of us too, companions in our common work, which is your good, earthly and eternal; you are companions of all God's saints who are engaged in the same warfare; you are companions -high and most presumptuous as the word were in itself, yet God's infinite love has sauctioned it—you are companions of Him who is not ashamed to call us brethren, who bore and bears our nature, who died as we shall all die. Bear all these relationships in mind, and then, as I said, companionship is become communion, the bond of wickedness is become the bond of perfectness, we are one with each other, and with Christ, and with God.-Sermons; last volume, pp. 55, 57, 58, 66, 67, 68, 74, 75, 76, 77, 82, 83, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94.

But it was not in preaching alone, as we have said, that Arnold gave religious instruction to his pupils. "No direct instruction," says one of them, "could leave on their minds a livelier image of his disgust at moral evil, than the black cloud of indignation which passed over his face when speaking of the crimes of Napoleon, or of Cæsar, and the dead pause which followed, as if the acts had just been committed in his very presence. No expression of his reverence for a high standard of Christian excellence could have been more striking than the almost involuntary expressions of admiration which broke from him whenever mention was made of St. Louis of France."