Flitting from Fee to Fee.

If he's a bad essayist he plugs into the time-machine every morning like you and me. If he's a good essayist he's a merry bird who spends his time flitting from fee to fee. He doesn't have to write essays; he only has to essay to write essays. Subjects don't cause him any concern. The world is his oyster. All he supplies is the vinegar and pepper. He grabs the first subject lying round. It might be baby's bald head bobbing about like a channel buoy in a choppy sea, in which case he writes an essay entitled “Perils of the Deep”—or it might be “Are Oysters Class-Conscious,” or even “The Life of Shelley.” All he needs is a starter.