he existence of which they have already begun
to realise. But of this rare class was Julian Home. He studied with an
ardour and a passion, before which difficulties vanished, and in
consequence of which, he seemed to progress not the less surely, because
it was with great strides. For the first time in his life, Julian found
himself entirely alone in the great wide realm of literature--alone, to
wander at his own will, almost without a guide. And joyously did that
brave young spirit pursue its way--now resting in some fragrant glen,
and by some fountain mirror, where the boughs which bent over him were
bright with blossom, and rich with fruit--now plunging into some deep
thicket, where at every step he had to push aside the heavy branches and
tangled weeds--and now climbing with toilful progress some steep and
rocky hill, on whose summit, hardly attained, he could rest at last, and
gaze back over perils surmounted, and precipices passed, and mark the
thunder rolling over the valleys, or gaze on kingdoms full of peace and
beauty, slumbering in the broad sunshine beneath his feet.

Julian read for the sake of knowledge, and because he intensely enjoyed
the great authors, whose thoughts he studied. He had read parts of
Homer, parts of Thucydides, parts of Tacitus, parts of the tragedians,
at school, but now he had it in his power to study a great author
entire, and as a whole. Never before did he fully appreciate the
"thunderous lilt" of Greek epic, the touching and voluptuous tenderness
of Latin elegy, the regal pomp of history, the gorgeous and philosophic
mystery of the old dramatic fables. Never before had he learnt to gaze
on "the bright countenance of truth, in the mild and dewy air of
delightful studies." Those who decry classical education, do so from
inexperience of its real character and value, and can hardly conceive
the sense of strength and freedom which a young and ingenuous intellect
acquires in all literature, and in all thought, by the laborious and
successful endeavour to enter into that noble heritage which has been
left us by the wisdom of bygone generations. Those hours were the
happiest of Julian's life; often would he be beguiled by his studies
into the "wee small" hours of night; and in the grand old company of
eloquent men, and profound philosophers, he would forget everything in
the sense of intellectual advance. Then first he began to understand
Milton's noble exclamation--

"How cha