A man who, in his own practice, so vigorously acted up to the principle of losing no time, was likely to adhere to the same rule in the instruction of his pupil. I have no remembrance of the time when I began to learn Greek. I have been told that it was when I was three years old. My earliest recollection on the subject, is that of committing to memory what my father termed Vocables, being lists of common Greek words, with their signification in English, which he wrote out for me on cards. Of grammar, until some years later, I learnt no more than the inflexions of the nouns and verbs, but, after a course of vocables, proceeded at once to translation; and I faintly remember going through Æsop’s Fables, the first Greek book which I read. The Anabasis, which I remember better, was the second. I learnt no Latin until my eighth year. At that time I had read, under my father’s tuition, a number of Greek prose authors, among whom I remember the whole of Herodotus, and of Xenophon’s Cyropædia and Memorials of Socrates; some of the lives of the philosophers by Diogenes Laertius; part of Lucian, and Isocrates’ ad Demonicum and ad Nicoclem. I also read, in 1813, the first six dialogues (in the common arrangement) of Plato, from the Euthyphron to the Theætetus inclusive: which last dialogue, I venture to think, would have been better omitted, as it was totally impossible I should understand it. But my father, in all his teaching, demanded of me not only the utmost that I could do, but much that I could by no possibility have done. What he was himself willing to undergo for the sake of my instruction, may be judged from the fact, that I went through the whole process of preparing my Greek lessons in the same room and at the same table at which he was writing: and as in those days Greek and English lexicons were not, and I could make no more use of a Greek and Latin lexicon than could be made without having yet begun to learn Latin, I was forced to have recourse to him for the meaning of every word which I did not know. This incessant interruption, he, one of the most impatient of men, submitted to, and wrote under that interruption several volumes of his History and all else that he had to write during those years.
Note from KBJ: Memory is important in any sort of learning, but it’s crucial in the learning of a language, whether natural (as in the case of Mill learning Greek) or artificial (as in the case of students learning formal logic). On the first day of every Logic course I teach, I advise my students to prepare flash cards for the many terms they will be learning (such as “argument,” “deduction,” “induction,” “premise,” “conclusion,” “valid,” and “sound”). I doubt that many students take my advice, which is why they don’t do as well as they might. Some students, I suspect, view it as childish to prepare flash cards. Ha! It’s how law-school graduates, who have everything on the line, prepare for the bar exam. During the summer of 1983, when I studied for the Michigan Bar Examination, I had hundreds of flash cards, which I meticulously prepared and which I cycled through as I went about my business. While driving, for example, I would place the stack of cards on the console. I would glance down at the top card and try to state the definition. When I thought I had it, I would turn the card over and see. If I got it wrong, I would put the card back down and try again. Once I got it right, I would put the card on the bottom of the stack and go to the next one. I went through this stack dozens of times, and it was a large stack! To this day, I can recite from memory many of the definitions. “Burglary,” for example, means (at common law) the breaking and entering of a dwelling place in the nighttime with the specific intent to commit a felony or petty larceny therein. “Larceny” is the taking and carrying away of the personal property of another with the intent to permanently deprive the owner thereof. I had no idea, when I began studying for the bar exam, that my memory was as good as it is.