They go on to state that this habit of dictating was a thing unheard of till within the last forty years; "yet the auditors were not less learned then than now." In fact, but a slight acquaintance with the old university system of Europe will show how jealously the empire of the spoken word was maintained--the spoken word, as distinct, not only from reading what the Doctor had himself composed, but also from consulting even notes, while actually lecturing. He might have the text of Aristotle, or Peter the Lombard, before him; he might himself have written and published works; the student might, with permission, take down notes in shorthand, from which in part, but chiefly from memory, he would commit the whole lecture to writing,[267] on his return from school. It was not mere want of facilities that determined the system so. But the objective point was, not to have learning in one's papers and bound up; still less to have it in books, bought for the learning that is in them, and left afterwards with the learning still remaining there. The object was to make learning one's personal possession, and to profess the live mastery of it, with voice, eye, and person showing how live it was. These Doctors continue: "The common impression in men's minds is, that dictating is not lecturing; also that it is one thing to write after the manner of polishing off a treatise, a different thing to have at hand merely some brief heads and references. And, should the matter which is dictated be from some author, the labor of taking it down is superfluous." The living voice actuates the mind more; it expresses, it impresses; it arouses, suspends the attention; it explains. All these effects are nowhere in a dead-and-alive dictation. Nor do they give satisfaction, who append the explanation afterwards; for then both times seem to be lost, that taken up with dictation and that with the explanation. First, while the dictation was going on, the auditors were intent upon writing rather than understanding; particularly as, before the end of a sentence is come to, the beginning of it has already slipped from the mind; and the writing has to go on, without allowing any of that time to breathe, which is frequent enough if the Professor lectures and explains. Secondly, when the time for explanation comes after the dictation, the students are tired; they think they have all their learning now, down in their papers; so they go off, or they yawn, or they read over their copy, to see if anything is wanting. After dictating, the Professor thinks that he has now done his part. What follows, that is, the work of explaining, he gulps down, as best he can,--a laborious work, requiring memory, promptitude, facility of development, fluency of speech; whence he will gradually vanish away into a nonentity, as we see actually taking place in some universities.