rried _him_. They had one son, soon after their marriage; but no
other children.

I wonder if Grandfather was a case of suppressed personality. It wasn't
a weak personality. It would not stay suppressed. But it didn't come out
boldly and naturally, and live a full life. Not as full a life as its
own wisdom and strength made appropriate. He achieved several things,
and they weren't unimportant or small, yet he constantly slighted his
life-work; in fact, hardly spoke of it. Modern psychologists do not call
this attitude modesty, like our nice naive fathers. No, they say it
comes oftenest from the sexual errors of boyhood. For instance,
repression. Or shame at misguided indulgence.

This kind of boyhood is unfortunate, but it might do small harm, if it
weren't for the sad sense of guilt with which it stains a man's mind.
Men try to forget it, and do: but their subconsciousness never forgets.
To be cured, a man must face and remember his past, open-eyed, and see
his mistakes philosophically and understand better: understand what we
all are, and what human nature is made of, and how it is distorted in
youth by a rigid environment. The average moralist or parent won't tell
us these things. But until we have learned them, a good many of us feel
wicked, and can't put behind us the wretched mistakes of our youth. We
don't know enough to regard our young struggles with sympathy. Our
ignorance makes us believe we have blackened our souls. And the man who
keeps silent and never tells, and hence never learns, goes through the
world semi-subdued. Never gets what it owes him.

Was Grandfather Dilke such a case? I've no warrant for saying so. His
conscience may have troubled him, possibly, for some quite different
reason. He may have secretly hated some relative whom he should have
loved. He may have done some small wrong and unfortunately not been
found out. But whatever the reason was, he lived an odd, back-groundish
life--for a man of his caliber. And his life didn't satisfy him. And
this was his fault, not the world's.

The birth of a son, however, in a way gives a man a fresh chance. He
decides to live a second and far better life through his son. Whenever
a parent feels blue, or is not making good, he immediately declares that
his hopes are in his little son anyhow. Then he has a sad, comfortable
glow at his own self-effacement. Oh, these shirking fathers! They allow
_themselves_ to give way to weariness, or be halted by fears