hexameters--a music which, like that of the Sirens, few can hear
without being lured to the seas and isles of song. Then the tutor
might translate a passage of moving interest, like Priam's appeal to
Achilles; first, of course, explaining the situation. Then the
teacher might go over some lines, minutely pointing out how the
Greek words are etymologically connected with many words in English.
Next, he might take a substantive and a verb, showing roughly how
their inflections arose and were developed, and how they retain
forms in Homer which do not occur in later Greek. There is no
reason why even this part of the lesson should be uninteresting. By
this time a pupil would know, more or less, where he was, what Greek
is, and what the Homeric poems are like. He might thus believe from
the first that there are good reasons for knowing Greek; that it is
the key to many worlds of life, of action, of beauty, of
contemplation, of knowledge. Then, after a few more exercises in
Homer, the grammar being judiciously worked in along with the
literature of the epic, a teacher might discern whether it was worth
while for his pupils to continue in the study of Greek. Homer would
be their guide into the "realms of gold."

It is clear enough that Homer is the best guide. His is the oldest
extant Greek, his matter is the most various and delightful, and
most appeals to the young, who are wearied by scraps of Xenophon,
and who cannot be expected to understand the Tragedians. But Homer
is a poet for all ages, all races, and all moods. To the Greeks the
epics were not only the best of romances, the richest of poetry; not
only their oldest documents about their own history,--they were also
their Bible, their treasury of religious traditions and moral
teaching. With the Bible and Shakespeare, the Homeric poems are the
best training for life. There is no good quality that they lack: