" He who
honoured me with this eulogy was a scholar, "and a ripe and a good one,"
and of all my tutors was the only one whom I loved or reverenced.
Unfortunately for me (and, as I afterwards learned, to this worthy man's
great indignation), I was transferred to the care, first of a blockhead,
who was in a perpetual panic lest I should expose his ignorance; and
finally to that of a respectable scholar at the head of a great school on
an ancient foundation. This man had been appointed to his situation by
--- College, Oxford, and was a sound, well-built scholar, but (like most
men whom I have known from that college) coarse, clumsy, and inelegant. A
miserable contrast he presented, in my eyes, to the Etonian brilliancy of
my favourite master; and beside, he could not disguise from my hourly
notice the poverty and meagreness of his understanding. It is a bad
thing for a boy to be and to know himself far beyond his tutors, whether
in knowledge or in power of mind. This was the case, so far as regarded
knowledge at least, not with myself only, for the two boys, who jointly
with myself composed the first form, were better Grecians than the head-
master, though not more elegant scholars, nor at all more accustomed to
sacrifice to the Graces. When I first entered I remember that we read
Sophocles; and it was a constant matter of triumph to us, the learned
triumvirate of the first form, to see our "Archididascalus" (as he loved
to be called) conning our lessons before we went up, and laying a regular
train, with lexicon and grammar, for blowing up and blasting (as it were)
any difficulties he found in the choruses; whilst _we_ never condescended
to open our books until the moment of going up, and were generally
employed in writing epigrams upon his wig or some such important matter.
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