at he is incapable of
comprehending that which is seen by the eyes unless it be also heard by
the ears. Moreover, when he is not safely shut up in a lecture-room, he
is almost always compelled to be either eating, or playing football, or
meeting his maternal uncle at the station. Lastly, if the student could
read for himself, there would be no need of a lecturer: which is absurd.

"Such being the admitted theory of education," continued Feedingspoon, "I
feel that I am necessary to the machinery of the Universe. The position
which I occupy is at the same time one of some labour. This morning, for
instance, I rose late (having been occupied till past midnight in reading
to my pupils selections from the _Poetics_ of Aristotle, in order that
they might sleep soundly and wake refreshed): hence, I was unable to
follow my usual practice, which is, to call my alumni at 6.30, to
accompany them in a walk before breakfast, and map out the scheme of
reading which they are to follow until luncheon. I only trust that this
isolated omission of a plain duty may not wreck their futures! As a
result of my somnolence, I had but ten minutes in which to prepare two
lectures on subjects of which I had previously been ignorant; but, thanks
to Mr. Gow's _Handbook to School Classics_--a work with which my pupils
are unfamiliar because I have not yet told them to read it--I succeeded
in displaying an erudition which, in the circumstances, was creditable.
Since the conclusion of my lectures, I have been employed in visiting the
candidates whom I am preparing for examination, and encouraging them to
continue their studies. Personal attention is indispensable to the true
educator. But I must confess that I am somewhat dashed and embarrassed
by the receipt of a request from Tomkins, a scholar of this College, that
I should discontinue my daily inspection of his reading, as he wishes to
have time to do some work: coupled with a letter from the Senior Tutor,
who wishes to know if I do not think that a little more individual
attention is advisable in the case of Tomkins. . . .

"I must now," he said, "ask you to excuse me. The representatives of my
College are about to play a football match in the Parks: and although the
game is one with the rules of which I have never been able to familiarize
myself, and in which, between ourselves, I take no interest whatever, I
conceive that my absence from the crowd of spectators might well loosen
that sym