becomes keen so soon as one proceeds to put Greek words together—even three or four at a time—in the simplest sentences; it is like the child's pleasure in type-setting, only more varied. Therefore, for the beginner in Greek, we may always prescribe a little easy composition, it does not matter how little or how easy, if only it calls this feeling into play. For this feeling is not an illusion, which will fade in the presence of better knowledge. It is the germ of that delight in Greek which ripens with study, when the pleasure given at first by shapely words is enhanced by a perception of that symmetry and harmony, that unfailing adequacy to the lucid utterance of thought, which distinguishes the language as wielded by all its great masters, alike in verse and in prose.
I have firm faith, then, in the power of Greek to retain the interest which it has once awakened, not only for the sake of the treasures which it unlocks, but for its own sake also. And I believe that anything which tends to make the study of this language popular will be valuable in a further way. High specialisation has long ago become inevitable in every branch of knowledge. Classical philology is no exception to the rule. If a student is to know the best that has been done in even a small part of the field, he must concentrate himself thereon. But in the case of classical studies such completeness at a particular point may be purchased too dearly. These studies used to be called the "Humanities." This name expressed what is, after all, the greatest and best gift which they have to bestow. Their
