t truth, we have differed so widely that a little less
self-restraint on the one side or on the other would have brought us to
the verge of a very vulgar quarrel. The Bishop preaches what is called
Humanity, he practises Humanity, he would have a manufactory--which he
would manage on a profit-sharing system--for Humanity pills, and make
every young man in Oxford swallow two of them every morning. But there
is another meaning to the word Humanity which has been lost sight of in
this age of upheaval, it is 'classical learning.' Oxford has a duty to
perform; it has something to teach in addition to the development of
kindly feelings which must be taught at the mother's knee, and grow
naturally if they are ever to be effective. We are attacked at Oxford
by many kinds of outside influence, and you know enough of young men,
madam, to realize that there is no influence which appeals to them so
strongly as that which is outside, what I must call, constituted
authority. The Bishop, in short, if I judge him with accuracy, thinks
that Oxford is the finest playground for the East-end of London which
can be imagined by the wit of man. On this point I disagree with him
entirely, not from any dislike to the people of the East-end, but from
a profound conviction that young men in Oxford, if they are to do their
work with success, have already more than enough to occupy their minds."

He leaned forward in his chair and looked hard at me; he did not
apparently expect any answer to his oration, but he had touched on a
subject which was near my mother's heart, and I felt so uneasy that I
moved from my seat and leaned against one of the posts of the verandah.

"Don't you exaggerate what my brother wants?" my mother asked. "He
knows too well the value of time to wish to waste that of anybody, and
he loves Oxford."

"Too well," the Warden jerked out, as if he was an automatic
arrangement and some one had touched a spring.

"I don't think any one could love Oxford too well, and I should be
sorry if Godfrey did not learn something from his life there which
could help him to sympathize with other people."

I knew that I was bound to be pulled in sooner or later, and I thought
of disappearing behind my post and of leaving the Warden to say what he
liked.

"The sympathies of your son are already as wide as those of a Charity
Organization Society, and, I venture to say, as misdirected," the
Warden returned, and seemed to have forgotten