To the first of these this chapter will be exclusively devoted,
while the subject of English will be dealt with in the chapter to
follow.

[Side note: The case stated]

One of the great disadvantages of living in an island is that we
get so few opportunities of seeing ourselves as others see us.
When you seriously attempt to impress the necessity of culture on
the student preparing for the foreign mission he generally pities
you. In his eyes culture is a trifle, suited perhaps to the
serious consideration of ladies and dancing masters, but utterly
unworthy of one thought from a strong-minded or intellectual man.
But you tell him that without it the world will sneer at him. He
then pities the world, and replies--"What do I care about the
world's thoughtless sneer; have I not a priestly heart and a
scholar's head?"

That reply, if he were destined to live in a wilderness, would be
conclusive. An anchorite may attain a very high degree of
sanctity and yet retain all his defects of character--his
crudity, selfishness, vulgarity. While grace disposes towards
gentleness it does not destroy nature. There is no essential
connection between holiness and polished manners.

Nor does scholarship either require or supply culture. A mastery
of the "Summa" will not prevent you from doing an awkward action.
Dr. Johnson's learning was the marvel of his age, but his manners
were a by-word. So, if your only destiny was to be a scholar or a