Latin, a little Greek, a very little French, and a very very little of
what are called the English classics. He has read a few recent novels
perhaps, but of modern English literature, and of that (to him at least)
most important branch of it, English journalism, he knows nothing. His
views and opinions are those of a public school, which are by no means
in accordance with those of the great world of readers; or he is full of
the class prejudices imbibed at college. In short, he may be as vigorous
as a Zulu, with the materials of a first-rate soldier in him, but his
arms are only a club and an assegai, and are of no service. Why should
he not be fitted out in early life with literary weapons of precision,
and taught the use of them?

I say, again, that poor Paterfamilias looking hopelessly about him, like
Quintus Curtius in the riddle, for 'a nice opening for a young man,' is
totally ignorant of the opportunities, if not for fame and fortune, at
least for competency and comfort, that Literature now offers to a clever
lad. He looks round him; he sees the Church leading nowhere, with much
greater certainty of expense than income, and demanding a huge sum for
what is irreverently termed 'gate money;' he sees the Bar, with its high
road leading indeed to the woolsack, but with a hundred by-ways leading
nowhere in particular, and full of turnpikes--legal tutors, legal fees,
rents of chambers, etc.--which he has to defray; he sees Physic, at
which Materfamilias sniffs and turns her nose up. 'Her Jack, with such
agreeable manners, to become a saw-bones! Never!' He sees the army, and
thinks, since Jack has such great abilities, it seems a pity to give him
a red coat, which costs also considerably more than a black one; And how
is Jack to live upon his pay?

After all, indeed, however prettily one puts it, the question is with
him, not so much '_What_ is my Jack to be?' as '_How_ is my Jack to