Fenc’d with a footstool, that no step should go
Too rashly near, nor crush her gouty toe,
Obese Tuition sits, and ever drips
An inky slaver from her bloated lips!
Unwholesome vapours round her presence shed,
Dim ev’ry eye, and muddle ev’ry head,
Stunt the young shoots, which smil’d with promise once,
And breathe a deeper dulness on the dunce.
It is not fair to criticise the old Eton masters too severely, but undoubtedly some were incompetent. They were quite content that matters should proceed as they understood they had proceeded in the past, and thought it no part of their duty to attempt improvement in the time-honoured curriculum which for generations had been in vogue at “Eton School.”
A BABY OPPIDAN