It was thus that Ascham
and Rabelais began, by jumping into Greek and splashing about till
they learned to swim. First, of course, a person must learn the
Greek characters. Then his or her tutor may make him read a dozen
lines of Homer, marking the cadence, the surge and thunder of the
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.
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