question in the classical, commercial,
or mathematical-line, says I gravely, 'Why, sir, in the first place,
are you a philosopher?' 'No, Mr. Squeers,' he says, 'I ain't.'
'Then, sir,' says I, 'I am sorry for you, for I shan't be able
to explain it.' Naturally, the parent goes away and wishes he was
a philosopher, and, equally naturally, thinks I'm one."

That is the Balliol manner all over; and the ardent Holland, instructed
by Green, soon discovered, to his delight, that he was a philosopher,
and was henceforward qualified to apply Mr. Squeer's searching
test to all questions in Heaven and earth. "It was the custom at
Balliol for everyone to write an essay once a week, and I remember
that Holland made a name for his essay-writing and originality.
It was known that he had a good chance of a 'First in Greats,'
if only his translations from Greek and Latin books did not pull
him down. He admired the ancient authors, especially Plato, and
his quick grasp of the meaning of what he read, good memory, and
very remarkable powers of expression, all helped him much. He was
good at History and he had a great turn for Philosophy" (_cf_.
Mr. Squeers, _supra_), "Plato, Hegel; etc., and he understood, as
few could, Green's expositions, and counter-attack on John Stuart
Mill and the Positivist School, which was the dominant party at
that time."

In the summer Term of 1870 Holland went in for his final examination
at Oxford. A friend writes: "I remember his coming out from his
paper on, Moral Philosophy in great exaltation; and his _viva voce_
was spoken of as a most brilliant performance. One of the examiners,
T. Fowler (afterwards President of Corpus), said he had never heard
anything like it." In fine, a new and vivid light had appeared
in the intellectual sky--a new planet had swum into the ken of
Oxford Common Rooms; and it followed naturally that Holland, having
obtained his brilliant First, was immediately elected to a Studentship
at Christ Church, which, of course, is the same as a Fellowship
anywhere else. He went into residence at his new home in January,
1871, and remained there for thirteen years, a "don," indeed, by
office, but so undonnish in character, ways, and words, that he
became the subject of a eulogistic riddle: "When is a don not a
don? When he is Scott Holland."

Meanwhile, all dreams of a diplomatic career had fled before the
onrush of Aristotle and Plato, Hegel and Green. The considerations
which determin