ty owes much of its finer polish to
it. They emphasize the fact that, when I first knew it myself, it was
very much smaller than it has since then become, and, though divided
into sections even then, was very much more cohesive. Let me pass from
this latter fact to some of my own experiences as connected with it.

For young men who are already equipped with influential friends or
connections, a society which is relatively small and more or less
cohesive is in some ways more easy of access than one which is more
numerous, but in which, unless their means are ample enough to excite
the competitive affection of mothers, they are more likely to be lost.
In this respect I may look on myself as fortunate, for my circle of
acquaintances very rapidly widened as soon as, having done with Oxford,
I began to stay in London for more than a week at a time, and secured a
habitation, more or less permanent, of my own. While I was first looking
about for one which I thought would be suitable, Wentworth returned the
hospitality which I had previously shown him at Oxford by putting me up
for a fortnight at his house on the Chelsea Embankment, and during this
visit an incident took place which, if merely judged by the names of the
few persons concerned in it, might be thought picturesquely memorable.

Students of Robert Browning may recollect a short poem of his which
begins with the following lines:

And did you once see Shelley plain?
And did he stop and speak to you?
And did you answer him again?
How strange it seems and true!

My own answer would be, I did not see Shelley plain, but I did the next
thing to it. Sir Percy and Lady Shelley--the poet's son and
daughter-in-law--were Wentworth's near neighbors, though he never had
met either of them. Lady Shelley had been an old friend of my mother's,
and I took him one day to tea with her. To the wife of Shelley's son I
introduced Byron's grandson. What event could seem more thrilling to
any one whose sentiments were attuned to the music of Browning's verses?
What really happened was this: Lady Shelley said to me some pleasant
things about my mother; we all of us lamented the prevalence of the east
wind, and then, having recommended her crumpets, she discussed with
Wentworth the various large houses lately built in the neighborhood. At
this juncture the drawing-room door opened and the son of the author of
"Prometheus Unbound" entered. He was a fresh-looking country