have as much time given to it as any other single subject--say four
hours a week in each class of an ordinary school.

For the present, I think men of science would be well content with such
an arrangement as this; but, speaking for myself, I do not pretend to
believe that such an arrangement can be, or will be, permanent. In these
times the educational tree seems to me to have its roots in the air, its
leaves and flowers in the ground; and, I confess, I should very much
like to turn it upside down, so that its roots might be solidly embedded
among the facts of Nature, and draw thence a sound nutriment for the
foliage and fruit of literature and of art. No educational system can
have a claim to permanence, unless it recognises the truth that
education has two great ends to which everything else must be
subordinated. The one of these is to increase knowledge; the other is to
develop the love of right and the hatred of wrong.

With wisdom and uprightness a nation can make its way worthily, and
beauty will follow in the footsteps of the two, even if she be not
specially invited; while there is perhaps no sight in the whole world
more saddening and revolting than is offered by men sunk in ignorance of
everything but what other men have written; seemingly devoid of moral
belief or guidance; but with the sense of beauty so keen, and the power
of expression so cultivated, that their sensual caterwauling may be
almost mistaken for the music of the spheres.

At present, education is almost entirely devoted to the cultivation of
the power of expression, and of the sense of literary beauty. The matter
of having anything to say, beyond a hash of other people's opinions, or
of possessing any criterion of beauty, so that we may distinguish
between the Godlike and the devilish, is left aside as of no moment. I