them. I don't think I
could enunciate my technique, such as it is. If a young master, just
entering upon the work of a boarding-house, asked my advice, I could
utter several maxims which he would believe (and rightly) to be the
flattest and most obvious truisms; but the value of them to me is that
they are deduced from experience, and not stated as assumptions. The
whole secret lies in the combination of them, the application of them
to a particular case; it is not that one sees a thing differently, but
that one knows instinctively the sort of thing to say, the kind of line
to pursue, the kind of statement that appeals to a boy as sensible and
memorable, the sort of precautions to take, the delicate adjustment of
principles to a particular case, and so forth. It is, I suppose,
something like the skill of an artist; he does not see nature more
clearly, if indeed as clearly, as he did when he began, but he knows
better what kind of stroke and what kind of tint will best produce the
effect which he wishes to record. Of course both artist and
schoolmaster get mannerised; and I should be inclined to say in the
latter case that a schoolmaster's success (in the best sense) depends
almost entirely upon his being able to arrive at sound principles and
at the same time to avoid mannerism in applying them. For instance, it
is of no use to hold up for a boy's consideration a principle which is
quite outside his horizon; what one has to do is to try and give him a
principle which is just a little ahead of his practice, which he can
admire and also believe to be within his reach.

Besides this experience which I have acquired, I have acquired a
similar experience in the direction of teaching--I know now the sort of
statement which arrests the attention and arouses the interest of boys;
I know how to put a piece of knowledge so that it appears both
intelligible and also desirable to acquire.

Then I have learnt, in literary matters, the art of expression to a
certain extent. I can speak to you with entire frankness and
unaffectedness, and I will say that I am conscious that I can now
express lucidly, and to a certain extent attractively, an idea. My
deficiency is now in ideas and not in the power of expressing them. I
have quality though not quantity. It amuses me to read this old diary
and see how impossible I found it to put certain thoughts into words.

But apart from these definite acquirements, I cannot see that my
character