It was not, however, in rescuing one from the slough of despond, where natural defects would have left one without his aid, that M. Heger excelled--it was rather in calling out one's best faculties; in stimulating one's natural gifts; in lifting one above satisfaction with mediocrity; in fastening one's attention on models of perfection; in inspiring one with a sense of reverence and love for them, that M. Heger's peculiar talent lay. I may attempt only to sum up a _few_ maxims of his, that have constantly lived in my own mind: but I feel painfully my inability to convey the impression they produced when given by this incomparable Professor; whose power belonged to his personality; and was consequently a power that cannot be reproduced, nor continued by any disciple. The Teacher of genius is born and not made. The first of these maxims was that, before entering upon the study of any noble or high order of thoughts, one had to follow the methods symbolised by the Eastern practice of leaving one's shoes outside of the Mosque doors. There were any number of ways of 'putting off the shoes' of vulgarity, suggested to one's choice by M. Heger: the reading of some beautiful passage in a favourite book; the repetition of a familiar verse: attention to some very beautiful object: the deliberate recollection of some heroic action, _etc._ With different temperaments different plans might be followed:--what was necessary was that one did not enter the sacred place without some _deliberate_ renunciation of vulgarity and earthliness: by _some_ mental act, or process, one must have 'put off one's shoes.' There is here a strange circumstance that I was too young to feel the true importance of at the time, but that I have often wondered over since then. There can be no doubt of M. Heger's rigid orthodoxy as a Catholic. Yet whilst the recitation of the Rosary inaugurated the daily lessons, M, Heger had a special invocation[3] of 'the Spirits of _Wisdom_, _Truth_, _Justice_, _and Equanimity_,' that was recited by some chosen pupil; who had to come out of her place in class and stand near him; and who was not allowed by him to gabble. And this was the invariable introduction to _his_ lesson. I can't feel it was an orthodox proceeding: _There was not a Saint's name anywhere!_ But I feel the infallible impression it produced upon me now. One effect, in the sense of 'putting off one's shoes,' that it had for myself was that the Professor of Literature appeared to me without any of the dislikable qualities of the everyday M. Heger. Another maxim of M. Heger's was certainly borrowed from Voltaire: That one must give one's soul as many forms as possible. _Il faut donner à son âme toutes les formes possibles_. Again, that every sort of literature and literary style has its merits, _except the literature that is not literary and the style that is bad:_ here again, one has, of course, Voltaire's well-known phrases: _J'admets tous les genres, hors le genre ennuyeux_.'