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which John Ruskin had so magically described. He felt that
he was unsuited to the vulgar bustle of the Bar, for he had
discovered that it was not sufficient to put your name on a
door to get briefs; and modern politics seemed to lack no-
bility. He felt himself a poet. He disposed of his rooms in
Clement’s Inn and went to Italy. He had spent a winter in
Florence and a winter in Rome, and now was passing his
second summer abroad in Germany so that he might read
Goethe in the original.
Hayward had one gift which was very precious. He had
a real feeling for literature, and he could impart his own
passion with an admirable fluency. He could throw him-
self into sympathy with a writer and see all that was best in
him, and then he could talk about him with understanding.
Philip had read a great deal, but he had read without dis-
crimination everything that he happened to come across,
and it was very good for him now to meet someone who
could guide his taste. He borrowed books from the small
lending library which the town possessed and began read-
ing all the wonderful things that Hayward spoke of. He did
not read always with enjoyment but invariably with perse-
verance. He was eager for self-improvement. He felt himself
very ignorant and very humble. By the end of August, when
Weeks returned from South Germany, Philip was complete-
ly under Hayward’s influence. Hayward did not like Weeks.
He deplored the American’s black coat and pepper-and-salt
trousers, and spoke with a scornful shrug of his New Eng-
land conscience. Philip listened complacently to the abuse
of a man who had gone out of his way to be kind to him, but

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