foreigners I have alluded to, set about
corrupting innocence by training it into
the ways of men, freezes one's blood. The
Chinese tell of one of their old Emperors,
Chéou-sin, that, seeing a man wade through
a cold stream, one frosty morning, he
bade him remain for some time in the
water, and then had his legs cut off to see
whether the marrow in his bones was really
frozen. There were no Prussian schools so
many centuries ago, unluckily for Chéou-sin.
They are the places to freeze your marrow, if
you 're a real, natural-born, good old Englishman.
Go into any Prussian town, or village, a
little before eight o'clock, some December
morning. The iron grasp of an imaginary
duty has dragged all the children out of bed,
washed them, and given them their breakfasts;
and here they all are, turned out into the raw
frost, all running to one point—the school!!
Nine o'clock, ten o'clock, eleven—morning,
afternoon—search all the gutters, and there 's
not an innocent disporting himself—there 's
not a mud-pie made in the whole district—
the children are all emptied out of streets,
and houses, and poured away into that great
building yonder, that abominable school!!

Whereas, go into any great English town,
go into London as the greatest of 'em all.
What do you find there ? Freedom! Go
down into Westminster, or up into Whitechapel.
There you 'll find the young Bricks,
by thousands upon thousands, left to themselves
from the moment when they are first
able to crawl, and herding and growing together,
in the gamest manner, like so many
wolves. And you 're not deterred by this German
business, but you want to alter that state
of things! Don't deny it. You do. Some of
you do. I have heard of the conductor of the
very Journal that I write this remonstrance
to, giving expression to sentiments like the
following " London in this aspect is so horrible
to me, that when I go into such quarters
of the town, using my eyes, I lose belief in
the possibility of the progress, or even of the
long existence, of an Empire, with such a
mighty crime and danger at its heart. I do
not believe that any one can be well acquainted
with the sights of ignorant and neglected
childhood, which are hidden in the Metropolis
alone, and entertain within himself the possibility
of any wealth, or any power, or any
spirit in a people, sustaining, for many generations
longer, a State on which that wicked blight is resting."

That's constitutional and British, an't it?
/ call it Prussian. Ask a Prussian and he 'll
tell you, that to leave a child untaught, is only
two or three degrees less fearful than to murder
it. Not to feed the mind, is in his eyes a
punishable crime, as in our eyes it is an
indictable offence to starve the body. The
Prussian state does not dictate to its subjects
any place of education, as our state does not
dictate articles of food; but, educate you must
says the German law; and if you want the
means, the state makes a provision to supply
them for you;—just so we say feed yourselves,
and all your children; but if you cannot,
don't starve, come upon the parish; your
bodily support costs us seven millions a year.

The whole income of Prussia, as a state, is
somewhere about ten millions, and its
population is that of England and Wales as to
numbers, or not much less. Yet Prussia
burdens itself with the charge of education on
a most unstinting scale; whatever fund is
pinched, the exchequer is ready to meet every
demand, which corresponds to a real want, in
the way of education. Not having much to
pay for the support of pauperism (one great
result of ignorance and its vices), does certainly
give freedom to the public purse; but
I consider pauperism a noble institution.
What's to be the privilege of wealth, when all
the world is comfortable. You have to take
your hat off when you accost the German
peasant—'Hollo, you Sir,' won't go down
with him—he stands upright, and looks you in t
he face, and undertakes to answer you politely.
What I say, is, that humble people who are
educated, won't be satisfied with standing still;
they 'll get impertinent ideas about the rights
of man, and duty, and moving on. You can see
in the eyes of those Germans, that they are civil
because it's their duty; and that they don't
rightly reverence you for your money's sake.
Now, this is revolutionary; if not, I should
like to know what is. There is no way of
arguing with such men. For people like myself,
men of your true genuine blood, the only
course is, to knock 'em down.

Just step into the interior of one of these
same German schools, and see what manner
of outlandish work is going on. There! Did
you ever see the like of that! Call that a school!
The boys are comfortably seated, and the
master stands!

Mean-spirited fellow, there he stands, as
though it were he who had the hardest work
to do! The room is lofty, airy, and well
warmed; the children sit, I do believe, in
absolute enjoyment of the lesson. No other
sound interrupts the teacher and his class;
the other classes are under the same roof in
other rooms. Ruined by luxury, there sit the
children—with a grown man, and, what's
worse, a trained and educated man, standing
before them, pouring out his energies. He
isn't hearing them their lessons out of book;
the lesson they have learned out of a book, he
is explaining with all the art of a Jesuit,
enlivening with anecdotes, sprinkling about
with apt questions. The children are all on
the qui vive, and asking questions in their
turn—why don't he knock 'em down for their
impertinence? See! now he asks a question of
the class, up go two dozen little hands! The
owners of those hands believe that they can
answer it. There! he selects one to answer,
who looks pleased at the distinction. When
the next question comes, he'll tackle some
one else.