His steely, blue eyes gleamed through his gold-rimmed eyeglasses.
"Sit down."
And we had a talk lasting over an hour ... about religion mainly. He was surprised to learn that I knew a lot about the early Church fathers, had read Newman, and understood the Oxford controversy ... had read many of the early English divines....
"Gregory," he cried, putting his hand on my knee, "what a power for God you would be, if you would only give over your eccentricities and become a Christian ... a chap with your magnetism—in spite of your folly!—"
He impressed on me the fact, that, now I was a senior, more would be expected of me ... that the younger boys would look up to me, as they did to all seniors, and I must be more careful of my deportment before them ... my general conduct....
He asked me what I intended making of myself.
"A poet!" I exclaimed.
He spread his hands outward with a gesture of despair.
"Of course, one can write poetry if necessary ... but what career are you choosing?"
"The writing of poetry."