Oxford with a vile reputation. You have only
got to look at the man."

"Whatever the disease may be," I replied, "it's not
catching--unfortunately."

The pleasure men take in denigration of the gifted is one of the
puzzles of life to those who are not envious.

Men of letters, even people who ought to have known better, were slow
to admit his extraordinary talent; he had risen so quickly, had been
puffed into such prominence that they felt inclined to deny him even
the gifts which he undoubtedly possessed. I was surprised once to find
a friend of mine taking this attitude: Francis Adams, the poet and
writer, chaffed me one day about my liking for Oscar.

"What on earth can you see in him to admire?" he asked. "He is not a
great writer, he is not even a good writer; his books have no genius
in them; his poetry is tenth rate, and his prose is not much better.
His talk even is fictitious and extravagant."

I could only laugh at him and advise him to read "The Picture of
Dorian Gray."

This book, however, gave Oscar's puritanic enemies a better weapon
against him than even "The Portrait of Mr. W.H." The subject, they
declared, was the same as that of "Mr. W.H.," and the treatment was
simply loathsome. More than one middle-class paper, such as _To-Day_
in the hands of Mr. Jerome K. Jerome, condemned the book as "corrupt,"
and advised its suppression. Freedom of speech in England is more
feared than licence of action: a speck on the outside of the platter
disgusts your puritan, and the inside is never peeped at, much less
discussed.

Walter Pater praised "Dorian Gray" in the _Bookman_; but thereby only
did himself damage without helping his friend. Oscar meanwhile went
about boldly, meeting criticism now with smiling contempt.

One incident from this time will show how unfairly he was being judged
and how imprudent he was to front defamation with defiance.

One day I met a handsome youth in his company named John Gray, and I
could not wonder that Oscar found him interesting, for Gray had not
only great personal distinction, but charming manners and a marked
poetic gift, a much greater gift than Oscar possessed. He had besides
an eager, curious mind, and of course found extraordinary stimulus in
Oscar's talk. It seemed to me that intellectual sympathy and the
natural admiration which a younger man feels for a brilliant senior
formed the obvious bond between them. But no sooner did Oscar
republish "Dorian Gray" tha