I had begun to frequent a club founded by Mr. Oldham, and not from natural
liking, but from a secret ambition. I wished to become self-possessed, to
be able to play with hostile minds as Hamlet played, to look in the lion's
face, as it were, with unquivering eyelash. In Ireland harsh argument
which had gone out of fashion in England was still the manner of our
conversation, and at this club Unionist and Nationalist could interrupt
one another and insult one another without the formal and traditional
restraint of public speech. Sometimes they would change the subject &
discuss Socialism, or a philosophical question, merely to discover their
old passions under a new shape. I spoke easily and I thought well till
some one was rude and then I would become silent or exaggerate my opinion
to absurdity, or hesitate and grow confused, or be carried away myself by
some party passion. I would spend hours afterwards going over my words and
putting the wrong ones right. Discovering that I was only self-possessed
with people I knew intimately, I would often go to a strange house where I
knew I would spend a wretched hour for schooling sake. I did not discover
that Hamlet had his self-possession from no schooling but from
indifference and passion conquering sweetness, and that less heroic minds
can but hope it from old age.