and believing that everybody had a philosophical defence for all
they did, I desired greatly to meet some school-master that I might
question him. For a moment it seemed as if I should have my desire. I had
been invited to read out a poem called "The Island of Statues," an
arcadian play in imitation of Edmund Spenser, to a gathering of critics
who were to decide whether it was worthy of publication in the College
magazine. The magazine had already published a lyric of mine, the first
ever printed, and people began to know my name. We met in the rooms of Mr.
C. H. Oldham, now professor of Political Economy at our new University;
and though Professor Bury, then a very young man, was to be the deciding
voice, Mr. Oldham had asked quite a large audience. When the reading was
over and the poem had been approved I was left alone, why I cannot
remember, with a young man who was, I had been told, a school-master. I
was silent, gathering my courage, and he also was silent; and presently I
said without anything to lead up to it, "I know you will defend the
ordinary system of education by saying that it strengthens the will, but I
am convinced that it only seems to do so because it weakens the impulses."
Then I stopped, overtaken by shyness. He made no answer but smiled and
looked surprised as though I had said, "you will say they are Persian
attire; but let them be changed."

XXVII

I had begun to frequent a club founded by Mr. Oldham, and not from natural
liking, but from a secret ambition. I wished to become self-possessed, to
be able to play with hostile minds as Hamlet played, to look in the lion's
face, as it were, with unquivering eyelash. In Ireland harsh argument
which had gone out of fashion in England was still the manner of our
conversation, and at this club Unionist and Nationalist could interrupt
one another and insult one another without the formal and traditional
restraint of public speech. Sometimes they would change the subject &
discuss Socialism, or a philosophical question, merely to discover their
old passions under a new shape. I spoke easily and I thought well till
some one was rude and then I would become silent or exaggerate my opinion
to absurdity, or hesitate and grow confused, or be carried away myself by
some party passion. I would spend hours afterwards going over my words and
putting the wrong ones right. Discovering that I was only self-possessed
with people I knew intimately, I would often go to