There is, however, much in that history and that literature,--not to speak of the history and the literature of his own and other modern countries,--which, if it could but have its way, would appeal strongly to his imagination and his sympathy, dormant and undeveloped as these faculties are,--appeal to them so strongly as to awaken them at last from their slumber and quicken them into active life.

But alas! the shadow of an impending examination is always falling on his humanistic studies, nullifying the appeal that they make to him, and compelling him to look at them from a sordidly utilitarian point of view.

For to give marks for the response that he might make to their appeal, or even to set questions which would afford free scope for the play of his imagination or the flow of his sympathy, is beyond the power of any examiner.

There are two things, and two only, which "pay" on the examination day,--the possession of information and the power to make use of it; and the humanist who would win prizes at his school or gain high honours at his University, must therefore regard the memorable doings and the imperishable sayings of his fellow-men, not as things to be imagined and felt, admired and loved, wondered at and pondered over, but as things to be pigeon-holed in his memory, to be taken out and arranged under headings, to be dissected and commented on and criticised.[30] Of the part that memory plays in the education of our humanist, I need not speak.

An undue burden is probably laid upon it; but that is a matter of minor importance.