supernatural presence in the Church of
Rome; yet he had, too, the instinct of the poet, to translate into form
and substance his inmost and sweetest joy, and to lavish it upon others.
No one dares to speak of great poets and seers as men who have profaned
a mystery by making it known. The deeper that the poet's sense of beauty
is, the more does he thirst to communicate it. It is far too divine and
tremendous to be secretly and selfishly enjoyed.

It is possible, of course, that Hugh may have given to those who did not
see him constantly in everyday familiar intercourse, the sense of a
courteous patience and a desire to do full justice to a claim. Still
more may he have given this impression on social occasions and at
conventional gatherings. Interviews and so-called festivities were apt
to be a weariness to him, because they seemed so great an expenditure of
time and force for very scanty results; but I always felt him to be one
of the most naturally courteous people I have ever seen. He hated to be
abrupt, to repel, to hurt, to wound feelings, to disappoint; yet on such
occasions his natural courtesy was struggling with a sense of the waste
of time involved and the interruptions caused. I remember his writing to
me from the Catholic rectory when he was trying to finish a book and to
prepare for a course of sermons, and lamenting that he was "driven
almost mad" by ceaseless interviews with people who did not, he
declared, want criticism or advice, but simply the luxury of telling a
long story for the sake of possible adulation. "I am quite ready to see
people," he added, "if only they would ask me to appoint a time, instead
of simply flinging themselves upon me whenever it happens to be
convenient to them."

I do not think he ever grudged the time to people in difficulties when
he felt he could really help and save. That seemed to him an opportunity
of using all his powers; and when he took a soul in hand, he could
display a certain sternness, and even ruthlessness, in dealing with it.
"You need not consult me at all, but if you do you must carry out
exactly what I tell you," he could say; but he did grudge time and
attention given to mild sentimentalists, who were not making any way,
but simply dallying with tragic emotions excitedly and vainly.

This courtesy was part of a larger quality, a certain knightly and
chivalrous sense, which is best summed up in the old word "gentleman." A
priest told me that soon after H