He very seldom went to the rooms
of other men, except in response to definite invitations; but he
was always disposed to welcome any one who came spontaneously to
see him. He was a really diffident and modest fellow, and I do not
think it even entered into his head to imagine that he had any
social gifts or personal charm. But I gradually came to perceive
that his mind was of a very fine quality. He had a mature critical
judgment, and, though I used to think that his tastes were somewhat
austere, I now see that he had a very sure instinct for alighting
upon what was best and finest in books and art alike. He used to
write poetry in those days, but he was shy of confessing it, and
very conscious of the demerits of what he wrote. I have some of his
youthful verses by me, and though they are very unequal and full of
lapses, yet he often strikes a firm note and displays a subtle
insight. I think that he was more ambitious than I perhaps knew,
and had that vague belief in his own powers which is characteristic
of able and unambitious men. His was certainly, on the whole, a
cold nature in those days. He could take up a friendship where he
laid it down, by virtue of an easy frankness and a sympathy that
was intellectual rather than emotional.
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