Farrar"!--as we irreverently called him--it was an education
in itself to be in his form. I had the uncommon privilege of moving
upwards in the School at very much the same rate as he did as a
master, though I fear for my school reputation none too quickly. He
first kindled my admiration for the classic giants of English
literature, more especially the poets, taught me to appreciate the
rolling periods of Homer, and even the beauty of the characters of the
Greek alphabet. He was a voluminous student of the best in every form
of ancient and modern literature. He always kept a copy of Milton, his
favourite poet I think, on his desk, and, whenever a passage in the
Greek or Latin classics occurred, for which he could produce a
parallel, quoted pages without reference to the book.

I recall my delight and pride when I was sent on two occasions to the
headmaster, Dr. Butler, the late Master of Trinity, with copies of
original verses; and the honour I felt it to inscribe them, at Mr.
Farrar's request, in a MS. book he kept for the purpose of collecting
approved original efforts in the author's own writing. For it was his
habit once a week to give us subjects for verses or composition. A
unique effort of the Captain of the School cricket eleven, C.F.
Buller, comes back to me as I write; it did not however appear in the
MS. book. The School Chapel was the subject, full of interest and
stirring to the imagination, if only for the aisle to the memory of
Harrow officers who fell in the Crimea. Buller's flight of imagination
was as absurd as it was impertinent:

"The things in the Chapel nonsense are,
Don't you think so dear Fa_rrar_!"

Mr. Farrar, however, never took offence at such sallies. I remember,
when he was denouncing the old "yellow back" novels, murmurs becoming
audible, which were intended to reach him, of "Eric! Eric!"--the title
of his early school-boy story--he only smiled in acknowledgment. And
on an April 1st several boys who had plotted beforehand gazed
simultaneously and persistently at a spot on the ceiling, until his
eyes followed theirs unthinkingly in the same direction, when it
occurred to him, as nothing unusual was visible, that it was All
Fools' Day. He was very playful and indulgent; he kept a "squash"
racquet ball on his desk, and could throw it with accurate aim if he
noticed a boy dreaming or inattentive. He would never when scoring the
marks enter a 0, even after an abject failure, alway