Edinburgh University may call herself with grim jocoseness the “alma mater” of her students, but if she be a mother at all she is one of a very heroic and Spartan cast, who conceals her maternal affection with remarkable success.  The only signs of interest which she ever designs to evince towards her alumni are upon those not infrequent occasions when guineas are to be demanded from them.  Then one is surprised to find how carefully the old hen has counted her chickens, and how promptly the demand is conveyed to each one of the thousands throughout the empire who, in spite of neglect, cherish a sneaking kindness for their old college.  There is symbolism in the very look of her, square and massive, grim and grey, with never a pillar or carving to break the dead monotony of the great stone walls.  She is learned, she is practical, and she is useful.  There is little sentiment or romance in her composition, however, and in this she does but conform to the instincts of the nation of which she is the youngest but the most flourishing teacher.

A lad coming up to an English University finds himself In an enlarged and enlightened public school.  If he has passed through Harrow and Eton there is no very abrupt transition between the life which he has led in the sixth form and that which he finds awaiting him on the banks of the Cam and the Isis.  Certain rooms are found for him which have been inhabited by generations of students in the past, and will be by as many in the future.  His religion is cared for, and he is expected to put in an appearance at hall and at chapel.  He must be within bounds at a fixed time.  If he behave indecorously he is liable to be pounced upon and reported by special officials, and a code of punishments is hung perpetually over his head.  In return for all this his University takes a keen interest in him.  She pats him on the back if he succeeds.  Prizes and scholarships, and fine fat fellowships are thrown plentifully in his way if he will gird up his loins and aspire to them.

There is nothing of this in a Scotch University.  The young aspirant pays his pound, and finds himself a student.  After that he may do absolutely what he will.  There are certain classes going on at certain hours, which he may attend if he choose.  If not, he may stay away without the slightest remonstrance from the college.  As to religion, he may worship the sun, or have a private fetish of his own upon the mantelpiece of his lodgings for all that the University cares.  He may live where he likes, he may keep what hours he chooses, and he is at liberty to break every commandment in the decalogue as long as he behaves himself with some approach to decency within the academical precincts.  In every way he is absolutely his own master.  Examinations are periodically held, at which he may appear or not, as he chooses.  The University is a great unsympathetic machine, taking in a stream of raw-boned cartilaginous youths at one end, and turning them out at the other as learned divines, astute lawyers, and skilful medical men.  Of every thousand of the raw material about six hundred emerge at the other side.  The remainder are broken in the process.