I thought a great deal about the system of education from which I had
suffered, 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."