"'One arrogant fellow who published a wretched book on "General History," thought wonders what he did not do by saying, that "_History does repeat itself in institutions, but never in events or persons._" Can such drivel be tolerated! Why, the repetition by and through persons (read: historians) is the very soul of history. We in this country have said and written in and out of time and on every sort of paper, that the "Decline and Fall of the Burmese Empire" is the greatest historical work ever written by a Byzantine, or a post-Byzantine. We have said it so frequently, so incessantly, that at present it is an established truth. Who would dare to say that it is not? Why, the very _Daily Nail_ would consider such a person as being beneath it. "'We real historians go for facts only. Ideas are sheer dilettantism. Give us facts, nothing but single, limited, middle-class facts. In the Republic of Letters we do not suffer any lordly ideas, no more than the idea of lords. One fact is as good as another, and far worse. Has not our greatest authority taught that the British Empire was established in and by absent-mindedness, that is, without a trace of reasoned ideas? As the British Empire, even so the British historians, and, _cela vo sang dir_, all the other historians. Mind is absent. "Mind" is a periodical; not a necessity. We solid researchers crawl from one fact to another for crawling's sake.'" * * * * * The gods and heroes were highly amused with the tale of Aristotle, and it was with genuine delight that they saw him resume the story of his experiences at the seats of learning. "When I left the Professor of History," continued Aristotle, "I felt somewhat heavy and dull. I could not easily persuade myself that such utter confusion should reign in the study of history after so many centuries of endless research. I hoped that the little ones might have made more real advance in philosophy; and with a view to ascertain the fact, I entered a lecturing hall where a professor was even then holding forth on my treatise 'De Anima.' He had just published a thick book on my little treatise, although (or perhaps because?...) another professor, a Frenchman, had recently published a much thicker book on it. "I listened very attentively, but could not understand a word of what he said. He treated me text-critically, philologically, hermeneutically,--everything, except understandingly. I felt that my treatise was not mine at all. It was his. At a given moment I could not help uttering aloud a sarcastic remark about the professor's explanations. Down he came on me like thunder, and with a triumphant sneer he proved to me that what I had said I had not said at all. In that I differed entirely from a great statesman of theirs, who _had_ said what he had said. The professor put me under a regular examination, and after twenty minutes formally ploughed me in 'De Anima.'