I have already hinted that such scientific training as we seek for may be given without making any extravagant claim upon the time now devoted to education.  We ask only for “a most favoured nation” clause in our treaty with the schoolmaster; we demand no more than that science shall 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 think I do not err in saying that if science were made the foundation of education, instead of being, at most, stuck on as cornice to the edifice, this state of things could not exist.

In advocating the introduction of physical science as a leading element in education, I by no means refer only to the higher schools.  On the contrary, I believe that such a change is even more imperatively called for in those primary schools, in which the children of the poor are expected to turn to the best account the little time they can devote to the acquisition of knowledge.  A great step in this direction has already been made by the establishment of science-classes under the Department of Science and Art,—­a measure which came into existence unnoticed, but which will, I believe, turn out to be of more importance to the welfare of the people, than many political changes, over which the noise of battle has rent the air.