o sling them together--I haven't a word to say against it as a
recreation--but that's a different thing from serious work. There's
only one thing which justifies a man in cutting himself adrift from the
world, in opposition to the wishes of those who have his interests most
at heart, and that is, a strong and solemn conviction of a special
mission in life. Very well then! If you agree so far, let us proceed
to consider the mission of a poet. There's only one justification for
his existence--only one thing that distinguishes him from the
professional rhymester whom nobody wants, and who is the bane and terror
of society, and that is--_that he has something to say_! Now take your
own case--a lad without as much as a moustache on his face; the son of a
rich father, who has lain soft all his life, and had the bumps rolled
flat before him. What do you imagine that you are going to teach the
world? Do you fondly believe that you have anything to say that has not
been said before, and a thousand times better into the bargain?"

Ronald looked up and gazed dreamily ahead. He had taken off his cap, as
his custom was in these moorland tramps, which were becoming of daily
occurrence, and his hair was ruffled on his forehead, giving an air of
even more than ordinary youth to his face. The hazel eyes were dark,
and the curved lips trembled with emotion; he was searching his soul for
the reply to a question on which more than life seemed to depend, and
while he gazed at the purple mountains with unseeing eyes the Chieftain
gazed at his illumined face, and felt that he had received his answer.

The words of Wordsworth's immortal ode rushed into his brain, and he
recognised that this ignorant lad possessed a knowledge which was hidden
from the world. Heaven, with its clouds of glory, lay close around him,
ignorant of worldly wisdom though he might be. God forbid that the one
should ever be exchanged for the other!

The Chieftain was answered, but like Ron he remained silent. They
walked on over the short, springy grass, breathed the clear, fresh
breeze, and thought their own thoughts. It was not until nearly a mile
had been traversed that Ron turned his head and said simply, as if
answering a question put but a moment before--

"I sing, because I must! It is my life. I have not thought of other
people, except in so far as their approval would justify me in my
father's eyes. You could no doubt judge better than I if wha