soften his heart, or to elevate his views; hence year after year passed in fretful lamentations over his lost glory, in ill-concealed aspirations after new contests and victories, and in bitter quarrellings with his watchful gaoler.

Thus had Europe seen "an experiment, under the most favorable conditions, of the powers of intellect without conscience. Never was such a leader so endowed, and so weaponed; never did leader find such aids and followers. And what was the result of this vast talent and power; of these immense armies, burned cities, squandered treasures, demoralized Europe? It came to no result. All passed away, like the smoke of his artillery, and left no trace."* "Napoleon's working,-what was it with all the noise it made? A flash as of gunpowder wide spread; a blazing up as of dry heath. For an hour the universe seems wrapt in smoke and flame; but only for an hour. It goes out; the universe with its old mountains and streams, its stars above and soil beneath, is still there."+

And the poor man himself, what a spectacle of earthly greatness does he present, and of earthly folly and self-delusion! "His notions of the world, as he utters them at St. Helena, are almost tragical to consider. He seems to feel the most unaffected surprise that it has all gone so; that he is flung out on the rock here, and the world is still moving on its axis! His astonishment is extreme. But alas! what help now? He had to sink there, mournfully enough, and break his great heart, and die."+

Yet, so far as restless energy, unrivalled genius, and unscrupulous decision were concerned, this terrible failure was not Bonaparte's fault. "He did all that in him lay to live and thrive without moral principle." It was "the eternal law" which balked and ruined him, and the result in a million of experiments would always be the same. Every experiment that has a merely sensual and selfish aim will fail."§

His design, the great business of his life,-his design against the independence of nations and the liberties of the world, has been justly described as the most nefarious enterprize recorded in history. He knew distinctly the price which he must pay for the eminence which he coveted. "He knew that the path to it lay over slaughtered millions; over the putrifying heaps of his fellow-creatures; over ravaged fields, smoking ruins, pillaged cities. He knew that his steps would be followed by

* Emerson, p. 191.

+ Carlyle, p. 390.

Carlyle, p. 392. The ostensible cause of his death was cancer of the stomach: on which Dr. Arnott thus writes:-"If it be admitted that a previous disposition to this disease did exist, might not the depressing passions of the mind act as an exciting cause? It is more than probable that Napoleon's mental sufferings at St. Helena were very poignant."

§ Emerson, p. 392.

the groans of widowed mothers and famished orphans; of bereaved friendship and despairing love, and that with this misery he would create an equal amount of crime." On the fields of Spain he left half-a-million of French soldiers, whose bayonets had been dyed with the blood of a still larger number of murdered peasants, with their wives and children. In his Russian campaign of 1812, he lost not fewer than 400,000 of his army; while the ravages and murders committed on the inhabitants of the country defy computation. And the sole object of all this bloodshed,-the Moloch to whom these millions were sacrified, was nothing else than "MY political system," "MY glory."

It was the bright and cheering feature in his great rival's history, that from first to last he always recognized an obligation, a duty, by which he was bound, and to which he paid a loyal obedience. To say that Wellington had no selfishness, would be absurd; but it is certain that he never allowed it to become his dominant motive, or his rule of life. Bonaparte, on the other hand, lived transparently for himself. No higher or purer aspiration ever stirred his breast than such as had reference to his own power or "glory." It was for this sole end that he lived, and it was to conduce to this end that he would fain have made all other men live.

"There are different orders of greatness. Among these, the first rank is unquestionably due to moral greatness; to that sublime energy by which the soul binds itself for life or death to truth and duty; espouses as its own the interests of human nature; scorns all meanness and defies all peril; reposes an unfaltering trust in God; and is ever "ready to be offered up" on the altar of its country or of mankind. Of this moral greatness, which throws all other greatness into obscurity, we find not a trace in Napoleon."*

As to the will or the commands of God, it is quite clear that these "were not in all his thoughts." Hence he performed the work assigned to him, of punishing and scourging guilty nations, and then he was cast upon the rock, "to break his heart and die." So far as he himself was concerned, his life was one long crime, and, of necessity, it was also one long and ruinous blunder.

What lesson, however, some thoughtless reader may exclaim, can there be for us in this story? Which amongst us is likely to rise to the command of an empire? Or what instruction can we gain from the study of the fall of a great military autocrat? He who so speaks must have overlooked the just remark of Emerson, that Bonaparte was the type or representative, not of emperors, or military despots, but of

* Channing's Character of Napoleon, p. 62.

"the men of the world." Each man who lives for himself, and covets and obtains wealth and power and the gratification of his selfish ambition, is one of whom Bonaparte was the leader and pattern. His motto was Excelsior, and his ceaseless aim was self-exaltation. A thirst for dominion ever burnt within him, a thirst which nothing could quench. He gratified it in a higher degree than almost any other of the sons of men; yet still it consumed him, and he died with dreams of conquest and of glory filling his whole soul. And if you covet wealth and power for selfish objects, you follow in the track of Napoleon. "He had no element of character which others do not possess. He is not to be gazed at as a miracle. He was a manifestation of our own nature. He teaches us on a large scale what thousands teach on a narrow one.'

He died defeated, frustrated, and an exile. Yet, unless that thirst could have been quenched or taken away, he would have deserved pity no less had he died an autocrat. His broken heart may speak more plainly; but not the fullest success could have rendered him less the object of compassion. Between the boastful conqueror on his throne, and the captive exile on his death-bed, the only difference is in outward circumstances; the disease which ruined him was the same in his prosperity and in his downfall. An archangel, looking beyond those outward circumstances, would pity the delusion, as much in the conqueror as in the captive. And so, now, the substantial thing, the reality, is the disease, and not this or that phase of it. You follow him, perhaps, at an immense distance, vainly imagining that a millionth part of the wealth and power which he enjoyed would richly content you. But if you are really following him,if you have the same burning thirst, the same heart-disease, you may reckon on the same fate. If apparent success be permitted you, you will still have to cry out with Solomon, "All is vanity and vexation of spirit!" but if, as in Napoleon's case, Vaulting ambition overleaps itself, And falls on the other side,

your error will be more seen, and your fate more pitied; yet the difference will be more in outside show than in substantial reality. The practical lesson to all "men of the world," from the merchant craving after gain to the conqueror at the head of his armies, is the same: "Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live."

1

CLERICAL EDUCATION AT CAMBRIDGE AND OXFORD.

OUR readers may probably have heard that it is in contemplation to found a college, upon a scale of considerable magnitude, for the education of young men for the ministry in the church of England. A large sum has been offered by one munificent subscriber; and various sites have been proposed for the new institution in the neighbourhood of London or in one or other of our universities. It has been more publicly announced that the bishop of Exeter is prepared to endow a theological college, in connection with his own cathedral, with the sum of ten thousand pounds, on condition that the new dean, Dr. Ellicott, shall undertake the management of it. We cannot but regard the selection of such a head for the proposed institution as a proof that the venerable prelate, in his extreme old age, has adopted more moderate, and, as we, of course, who have been so long in conflict with him, think, more sound and scriptural views than those against which Mr. Gorham had to contend; and so far, each of these projects will commend itself, though still perhaps in different degrees, to the favourable consideration of sound-hearted churchmen.

That there are serious objections to the education of the young clergy in colleges exclusively theological, we feel strongly. We are afraid of a forced and hot-house school of discipline of any kind; most of all when it professes to be a, discipline of piety. We distrust the vigour which has never been assailed, and the opinions, however strongly rooted they. may seem, which have stood no conflicts. Dr. Vaughan has stated the question fairly, in the last of those four sermons, preached before the university, to which we have already called. attention: "And shall I be pardoned if I presume to say here how important I deem it that clerical education, so far as it consists in learning, should be carried on in our universities rather than in smaller and more special training fields? We do not want-which is the very best that can be hoped from. such methods-to see one man's mind stamped whole upon a section of the clergy. The freer intercourse, which a university offers, of mind with mind; the larger choice and mutual correction of instructors; not to mention the ampler gifts of learning and ability which such a place affords in its teachers, are invaluable aids in the study of a true theology. Other systems may have their advantages-I doubt not that it will be so-in peculiar cases; there are men for whom the temptations of college life have been too strong, and who need to be taken aside from it to learn truth, and to practise duty in what is for them a safer atmosphere; but the university, in my

opinion, would prove herself most unfaithful to the work with which God has entrusted her, if she allowed it to be said that her best students must turn elsewhere for their theology, because she refused to them either opportunities of instruction, or a stimulus to their use."

But this is only one side of the question. If we ask what is the theological training at either university, the answer is very discouraging. Cambridge is at present the great theological school of the church of England. Of the three hundred can· didates ordained on Trinity Sunday last, rather more than one half were Cambridge men. Oxford sent one fourth; and the remaining fourth was supplied by Durham and the provincial theological colleges; with the exception of a few literates, that is, self-taught or privately educated persons.

The only theological instruction which Cambridge affords to undergraduates is confined to the Greek Testament, and, in some colleges, Paley's Evidences. We should be ashamed to say anything of the sermons in college chapels, if we were obliged to pass a judgment on them from some specimens which have recently been published. Of course, they vary much; and some, no doubt, are excellent; but these, we fear, are rather the exception than the rule. The Theological Examination is now held a few weeks after the Bachelor's degrees have been conferred. It was established some twenty years ago, and was at first voluntary. It retains the name; but now that all the bishops insist on their candidates for orders producing a certificate that they have passed its ordeal, the name is no longer appropriate. It has become a serious addition to the studies of Cambridge men intended for the ministry, and a more serious addition to the expense. For a large proportion of those Cambridge undergraduates who are designed for holy orders are the sons of clergymen who can ill afford the already heavy cost of a university career. Those who are unacquainted with the Cambridge system will be surprised to learn, that for this important examination the university affords to undergraduates no assistance or facilities whatever. No lectures are given by the college tutors to prepare them for it. They must read up the subjects for themselves, how they can, and when they can; and we believe that, pressed as they are with other studies, they generally contrive to scramble through them in the short interval between the Bachelor's examination in January and the May term, at the beginning of which the voluntary takes place. It is no unusual thing to obtain a private tutor, at an additional expense, for this last ordeal. Yet, after all, the results are very unsatisfactory. At the Easter examination of the present year, about one hundred Bachelors succeeded in passing the examination; of these, not one of the "commencing Bachelors" attained to the honor of a first class, two were in