that of human spirits as yet; and to attempt to find one formula of education is like planting the same crop in different soils.  It is the ridiculous democratic doctrine of human equality which is the real difficulty.  There is no natural equality in human nature, and the question really is whether you are going to try to reduce all human beings to the same level, which is the danger of discipline, or to let people follow their own instincts unchecked, which is the shadow of liberty.  I’m all for liberty, of course.”

“But why ’of course’?” said Vincent.

“Because I take the aristocratic view,” said Father Payne, “which is that you do more for the human race by having a few fine people, than by having an infinite number of second-rate people.  What the first-rate man thinks to-day, the second-rate people think to-morrow—­that is how we make progress; and I would like to take infinite pains with the best material, if I could find it, and leave discipline for the second-rate.  The Jews and the Greeks, both first-class nations, have done more for the world on the whole than the Romans and the Anglo-Saxons, who are the best of the second-rate stocks.”

“But how are you going to begin to sort your material?” said Barthrop.

“Yes, you have me there,” said Father Payne.  “But I don’t despair of our ultimately finding that out.  At present, the worst of men of genius is that they are not always the most brisk and efficient boys.  A genius is apt to be perceptive and sensitive.  His perceptiveness makes him seem bewildered, because he is vaguely interested in everything that he sees; his sensitiveness makes him hold his tongue, because he gets snubbed if he asks too many questions.  Men of genius are not as a rule very precocious—­they are often shy, awkward, absent-minded.  Genius is often strangely like stupidity in its early stages.  The stupid boy escapes notice because he is stupid.  The genius escapes notice because he is diffident, and wants to escape notice.”

“But how would you set about discovering which was which?” said Barthrop.

“Well,” said Father Payne, “if you ask me, I don’t think we discriminate; I think we go in for teaching children too much, and not trying to make them observe and think more.  We give them things to do, and to get by heart; we imprison them in a narrow round of gymnastics.  As Dr. Johnson said once, ’You teach your children the use of the globes, and when they get older you wonder that they do not seek your society!’ The whole thing is so devilish dull, and it saves the teacher such a lot of trouble!  I myself was fairly quick as a boy, and found that it paid to do what I was told.  But I never made the smallest pretence to be interested in what I had to do—­grammar, Euclid, tiny scraps of Latin and Greek.  I used to thank God, in Xenophon lessons, when a bit was all about stages and parasangs, because there were fewer words to look out.  The idea of teaching languages like that!