No language has been so thoroughly analysed—perhaps because none has been so philosophically constructed—as Greek. The man who starts upon the study of modern languages, after having dissected, conscientiously and searchingly, the work of one of the Greek giants with the help of Jelf’s great book, has insensibly converted his mind into a sort of comparative grammar, he has acquired the knowledge of points of difference and points of similarity, that is to say of comparison, of which Buffon said, “nous ne pouvons acquérir de connaissance que par la voie de la comparaison,” and although the aid given to him is, of course, indirect, it is none the less real. He is in the position of a man who goes to a new gymnastic exercise with trained muscles, and therefore with marvellous ease, as compared with the man whose muscles and sinews are flabby and slack. That it is a discipline of the highest significance few will be found to deny. When Darwin spent seven years in dissecting barnacles it was not simply a knowledge of barnacle nature at which he was aiming; he was training his mind for other purposes. Apart from the beauties which they reveal to us, and so without any reference to the important question of culture, I am in favour of the study of the classics, as a gymnastic exercise of the brain, as a dissection of barnacles which yields far higher results than could be gained by merely learning French and German without any other preparation. In that way a man would attain what must simply be a more or less glorified couriers’ knowledge, practical no doubt, up to a certain degree, but unscientific and failing him at crucial points. The best Oriental scholars whom I have known have all been men who attacked their Eastern studies armed with the weapons furnished by a classical education. In China Sir Harry Parkes was an admirable oral interpreter. But he, himself, as I have said elsewhere, always regretted his want of classical training—nor would it be possible to compare him with that great scholar Sir Thomas Wade. In Japan Von Siebold was as fluent a talker as could be found. He was the son of the famous physician and naturalist, who was attached to the Dutch Mission at Deshima, and had learnt Japanese “ambulando.” But it would be childish to name him with such learned men as Satow, Aston and Chamberlain, men who brought the training and literature of the West to their studies in the East. It is not without significance to note the great respect which such men were able to command, whereas the mere parrot, however clever, was held in little more esteem than a head waiter. Think of Basil Chamberlain appointed to the Chair of ancient Japanese literature in the University of Tokio.