learning was of the last, rather than the present age; his temper
was indolent; his faculties, which were not of the first rate, had
been relaxed by the climate, and he was satisfied, like his fellows,
with the slight and superficial discharge of an important trust. As
soon as my tutor had sounded the insufficiency of his pupil in
school-learning, he proposed that we should read every morning from
ten to eleven the comedies of Terence. The sum of my improvement in
the university of Oxford is confined to three or four Latin plays;
and even the study of an elegant classic, which might have been
illustrated by a comparison of ancient and modern theatres, was
reduced to a dry and literal interpretation of the author's text.
During the first weeks I constantly attended these lessons in my
tutor's room; but as they appeared equally devoid of profit and
pleasure I was once tempted to try the experiment of a formal
apology. The apology was accepted with a smile. I repeated the
offence with less ceremony; the excuse was admitted with the same
indulgence: the slightest motive of laziness or indisposition, the
most trifling avocation at home or abroad, was allowed as a worthy
impediment; nor did my tutor appear conscious of my absence or
neglect. Had the hour of lecture been constantly filled, a single
hour was a small portion of my academic leisure. No plan of study
was recommended for my use; no exercises were prescribed for his
inspection; and, at the most precious season of youth, whole days
and weeks were suffered to elapse without labour or amusement,
without advice or account. I should have listened to the voice of
reason and of my tutor; his mild behaviour had gained my confidence.
I preferred his society to that of the younger students; and in our
evening walks to the top of Heddington-hill, we freely conversed on
a variety of subjects. Since the days of Pocock and Hyde, Oriental
learning has always been the pride of Oxford, and I once expressed