When computers first came into common use, scientists reported their amazement and pleasure at the speed at which calculations that would have taken human beings months and years had been accomplished in hours and minutes. As computers have increased their power, the minutes have shrunk to seconds and to fractions of seconds. This acceleration has so affected the scientists' sense of productiveness that today's extraordinary speed has become the ordinary expectation; desire for still greater speed has pushed some scientists to assume an active role in their university's choice of new computers. This emphasis on enhanced possibilities of scholarly productiveness through machines may have been preceded by earlier hopes for the typewriter and adding machine, but the temptations brought by the computer are far deeper and more widespread than those aroused by those veteran office machines. As scholars in the humanities have become more acquainted with computers, they, like the scientists, have begun to chafe at the limits current data processing machines place on them. Most recently they have been roused to new dreams of glory by the arrival, on major campuses, of the era of massive processors. Speeds for accessing information are approaching trillionths of a second and storage devices holding a trillion characters of information are in the offing. High-speed printers operating at 1,100 lines a minute seem already dated when compared with microfilm output at the equivalerit of 20,000 lines a minute. Plans for campus and national networks of computers and terminals add to the sense of an immense power at the disposal ocf the student of language, literature, and culture. The awe of technology and power that recurrently plagues modern scholars seems to be at work in the response to characteristics of the latest computers. It is as though, suddenly, all vexing resistance of man and his works to orderly understanding were about to give way. The image of humanistic scholars concerned with computers gathering together to exchange news about data bases, line printer speeds, and file techniques is sometimes upsetting. The cart seems to be in front of the horse. Can we conceive of scholars of the generation of Taine, Willamowitz, and Acton enthusing about carbon paper or typewriters to the extent of subordinating concern for the intellectual substance of their research? Nevertheless, it is difficult to resist the notion that using computers for a large scale and precise manipulation of texts would greatly enhance the power of contemporary scholarship. For this reason, the irritation at current machine limits among interested humanities scholars is under-