'He looked upon the family estate rather as a trust than as an inheritance—as far more valuable than money on account of the family traditions, and the position which in our state of society is given to a family connected historically with the country. Elgin felt this deeply, and he clung to it in spite of difficulties which would have deterred a man of more purely selfish views.'
'It is melancholy to reflect,' adds Sir F. Bruce, 'how those have disappeared who could have filled up this gap in his history.' It is a reflection even more melancholy, that the loved and trusted brother, who shared so many of his labours and his aspirations, no longer lives to write that history, and to illustrate in his own person the spirit by which it was animated.
The sense of the difficulties above referred to strongly impressed his mind even before he went to Oxford, and laid the foundation of that habit of self-denial in all personal matters, which enabled him through life to retain a feeling of independence, and at the same time to give effect to the promptings of a generous nature. 'You tell me,' he writes to his father from college, 'I coin money. I uncoined your last order by putting it into the fire, having already supplied myself.'
About the middle of his Oxford career, a studentship fell vacant, which, according to the strange system then prevalent, was in the gift of Dr. Bull, one of the Canons of Christ Church. Instead of bestowing it, as was too commonly done, on grounds of private interest, Dr. Bull placed the valuable prize at the disposal of the Dean and Censors, to be conferred on the most worthy of the undergraduates. Their choice fell on James Bruce. In announcing this to a member of the Bruce family, Dr. Bull wrote: 'Dr. Smith, no less than the present college officers, assures me that there is no young man, of whatever rank, who could be more acceptable to the society, and none whose appointment as the reward of excellent deportment, diligence, and right-mindedness, would do more good among the young men.'
A letter written about this time to his father shows that the young student, with a sagacity beyond his years, discerned the germs of an evil which has since grown to a great height, and now lies at the root of some of the most troublesome questions connected with University Education.
In my own mind I confess I am much of opinion, that college is put off in general till too late;[4] and the gaining of honours therefore, becomes too severe to be useful to men who are to enter into professions. It was certainly originally intended that the degrees which require only a knowledge of the classics should be taken at an earlier age, in order to admit of a residence after they were taken, during which the student might devote himself to science or composition, and those habits of reflection by which the mind might be formed, and a practical advantage drawn from the stores of knowledge already acquired. By putting them off to so late an age, the consequence has been, that it has been necessary proportionably to increase the difficulty of their attainment, and to mix up in college examinations (which were supposed to depend upon study alone) essays in many cases of a nature that demands the most prolonged and deep reflection. The effect of this is evident. Those who, from circumstances, have neither opportunity nor leisure thus to reflect, must, in order to secure their success, acquire that kind of superficial information which may enable them to draw sufficiently plausible conclusions, upon very slight grounds; and [of] many who have this form of knowledge, most will eventually be proved (if this system is carried to an excess) to have but little of the substance of it.
He had meant to read for double honours, but illness, brought on by over- work, obliged him to confine himself to classics. All who know Oxford are aware, that the term 'Classics,' as there used, embraces not only Greek and Latin scholarship, but also Ancient History and Philosophy. In these latter studies the natural taste and previous education of James Bruce led him to take a special interest, and he threw himself into the work in no niggard spirit.[5] At the Michaelmas Examination of 1832, he was placed in the first class in classics, and common report spoke of him as 'the best first of his 'year.' Not long afterwards he was elected Fellow of Merton. He appears to have been a candidate also for the Eldon Scholarship, but without success. In a contest for a legal prize it was no discredit to be defeated by Roundell Palmer.
[Sidenote: Taste for philosophy.]
Some of his contemporaries have a lively remembrance of the eagerness with which, while still a student, he travelled into fields at that period beyond the somewhat narrow range of academic study. Professor Maurice at one time, Dr. Pusey at another, were his delighted companions in exploring the dialogues of Plato. Mr. Gladstone 'remembers his speaking of Milton's prose works with great fervour when they were at Eton together;' and adds the confession—interesting alike as regards both the young students—'I think it was from his mouth I first learned that Milton had written any prose,' This affection for those soul-stirring treatises of the great advocate of free speech and inquiry he always retained: they formed his constant companions wherever he travelled; and there are many occasions in which their influence may be traced on his thought and language. 'I would rather swallow a bushel of chaff than lose the precious grains of truth which may somewhere or other be scattered in it,' was a sentiment which, though expressed in much later life, was characteristic of his whole career. In this spirit he listened with deep interest to the roll of theological controversy then raging at Oxford, though he was never carried away by its violence.
In after life he had little leisure to pursue the philosophic studies commenced at Oxford; but they took deep and permanent hold on his mind, and formed in fact the groundwork of his great practical ability. This is well stated by Sir Frederick Bruce:—