A little boy with a natural inclination to reverence and respect and who
brought both industry and good-will to his work, felt confused by all
the derogatory things he was constantly hearing about the masters, and,
long before he was half grown up, formed as one result of it the fixed
determination that, whatever he might be when he grew up, there was one
thing he would never, under any circumstances be, and that was--master
in a school.

From twelve years of age upwards, contempt for the masters was the
keynote of all conversation about them. The Latin master, a little,
insignificant-looking man, but a very good teacher, was said to be so
disgracefully enfeebled by debauchery that an active boy could throw him
without the least difficulty. The Natural History master, a clever,
outspoken young man, who would call out gaily: "Silence there, or you'll
get a dusting on the teapot that will make the spout fly off!" sank
deeply in our estimation when one of the boys told us that he spent his
evenings at music-halls. One morning there spread like wildfire through
the class the report that the reason the Natural History master had not
come that day was because he had got mixed up the night before in a
fight outside a music-pavilion. The contempt and the ridicule that were
heaped upon him in the conversation of the boys were immeasurable. When
he came next morning with a black, extravasated eye, which he bathed at
intervals with a rag, he was regarded by most of us as absolute scum.
The German master, a tall, good-looking man, was treated as utterly
incompetent because, when he asked a question in grammar or syntax, he
walked up and down with the book in front of him, and quite plainly
compared the answer with the book. We boys thought that anyone could be
a master, with a book in his hand. History and Geography were taught by
an old man, overflowing with good-humour, loquacious, but self-
confident, liked for his amiability, but despised for what was deemed