For centuries Oxford and Cambridge have been in rivalry. It might excusably be thought that they had by now discovered and tried every possible way of testing their strength against each other. It has been left to two Universities in the United States to show them a new way. Yale and Harvard, as we announced on Saturday, have had an English literature match, ten a side, and Harvard won. The idea is much too good not to be borrowed from a country to which England ready owes so much. Both in fitness and in scope it grows as we look at it. The University which is beaten in the Boat Race has been able hitherto to console itself by declaring that to lead on the river has always been to lag in learning. That consolation can now be either substantiated, or blown away as a false and flattering unction to which no man nor society of men would care to be indebted. For many a year Cambridge has sneered at the vagueness of the Oxford mind, and Oxford at the petty particularity of the Cambridge mind: there must be learned men in the Universities of London, Birmingham and other great towns who could pit the two fairly against each other and declare a just result. English literature, of course, would not be the only match. There are many subjects in the curricula. Cambridge would expect to win the mathematics and the principal events in all sorts of "stinks." Oxford would count upon the Litterae humaniores. But there is no telling. It is very easy for good men to train too fine; and not a few of the best fall to "come off" in competition.

We have not yet, however, approached the cardinal significance of the American exam game. The paragraph, skimmed by a twinkling eye, rousing no more than an amused comment on the inexhaustible inventiveness of those Americans, contains in truth the seeds of a mighty revolution in the intellectual history of all universities, and thus, in due time, of all the world. Harvard has played Yale at English literature. When Oxford annually plays Cambridge at Greek, at modern languages, at history, at theology, at mathematics, at science, the scope of the revolution will begin to be perceived. Learning and intellectual prowess will be, like cricket, football, rackets, and rowing, a means of scoring off the rival institution. They will be respectable. Those who cultivate them will no longer be despised; they will be admired. On the day when the London newsboys are heard shouting "Oriental Languages "Result!" or "Natural Philosophy Winners!" a new era will have begun. No athlete will any longer conceal his possession of a good brain and a taste for reading. No student need slink apologetically across the quad, feeling himself useless to his college and his university. No publisher or theatrical manager will dare to use "intellectual" as a term of reproach; and no smart, uneducated worldling will sneer at the "academic" futility of the university man. But in order that the Harvard-Yale idea may have its full effect in England there must be visible rewards for prowess in the new forms of sport. Blues and half-Blues must be awarded. We suggest (since the head is here chiefly concerned) a blue tassel to the mortar-board, and a blue-and-white tassel for a half Blue. If Oxford dallows women to compete, the Blue will naturally be in the stockings. The design of the half-Blue in this case we do not presume to suggest. The London Times.