unutterable lessons in the mere sight of that frail old clerical
gentleman, lively as a boy, kind like a fairy godfather, and
keeping perfect order in his class by the spell of that very
kindness. I have heard him drift into reminiscences in class time,
though not for long, and give us glimpses of old-world life in out-
of-the-way English parishes when he was young; thus playing the
same part as Lindsay - the part of the surviving memory, signalling
out of the dark backward and abysm of time the images of perished
things. But it was a part that scarce became him; he somehow
lacked the means: for all his silver hair and worn face, he was not
truly old; and he had too much of the unrest and petulant fire of
youth, and too much invincible innocence of mind, to play the
veteran well. The time to measure him best, to taste (in the old
phrase) his gracious nature, was when he received his class at
home. What a pretty simplicity would he then show, trying to amuse
us like children with toys; and what an engaging nervousness of
manner, as fearing that his efforts might not succeed! Truly he
made us all feel like children, and like children embarrassed, but
at the same time filled with sympathy for the conscientious,
troubled elder-boy who was working so hard to entertain us. A
theorist has held the view that there is no feature in man so tell-
tale as his spectacles; that the mouth may be compressed and the
brow smoothed artificially, but the sheen of the barnacles is
diagnostic. And truly it must have been thus with Kelland; for as
I still fancy I behold him frisking actively about the platform,
pointer in hand, that which I seem to see most clearly is the way
his glasses glittered with affection. I never knew but one other
man who had (if you will permit the phrase) so kind a spectacle;
and that was Dr. Appleton. But the light in his case was tempered
and passive; in Kelland's it danced, and changed, and flashed