nty of
disagreeable duties to perform in any case; but I discovered gradually
that to adopt the principle of doing disagreeable things which were
supposed to be amusing and agreeable was to misunderstand the whole
situation. Now, if I am asked to stay at a tiresome house, I refuse; I
decline invitations to garden parties and public dinners and dances,
because I know that they will bore me; and as to games, I never play
them if I can help, because I find that they do not entertain me. Of
course there are occasions when one is wanted to fill a gap, and then
it is the duty of a Christian and a gentleman to conform, and to do it
with a good grace. Again, I am not at the mercy of small prejudices, as
I used to be. As a young man, if I disliked the cut of a person's
whiskers or the fashion of his clothes, if I considered his manner to
be abrupt or unpleasing, if I was not interested in his subjects, I set
him down as an impossible person, and made no further attempt to form
acquaintance.

Now I know that these are superficial things, and that a kind heart and
an interesting personality are not inconsistent with boots of a
grotesque shape and even with mutton-chop whiskers. In fact, I think
that small oddities and differences have grown to have a distinct
value, and form a pleasing variety. If a person's manner is
unattractive, I often find that it is nothing more than a shyness or an
awkwardness which disappears the moment that familiarity is
established. My standard is, in fact, lower, and I am more tolerant. I
am not, I confess, wholly tolerant, but my intolerance is reserved for
qualities and not for externals. I still fly swiftly from long-winded,
pompous, and contemptuous persons; but if their company is unavoidable,
I have at least learnt to hold my tongue. The other day I was at a
country-house where an old and extremely tiresome General laid down the
law on the subject of the Mutiny, where he had fought as a youthful
subaltern. I was pretty sure that he was making the most grotesque
misstatements, but I was not in a position to contradict them. Next the
General was a courteous, weary old gentleman, who sate with his
finger-tips pressed together, smiling and nodding at intervals.
Half-an-hour later we were lighting our candles. The General strode
fiercely up to bed, leaving a company of yawning and dispirited men
behind. The old gentleman came up to me and, as he took a light, said
with an inclination of his head in t